


By the Lights of the City

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melinda and Grant get put on a mission: take down the Kingpin and Madame Masque before their newest schemes take off in Paris. Oh, and pose as a married couple doing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opals and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written this trope and it's literally the best thing. Lay me down to die in a casket of fakemarried!Mayward because does this ship ever work perfectly for that trope or what?  
> This is mostly fluff and cuteness, to be entirely honest. And a lot of headcanons about their backstories. The show is going to disappoint me on that front, more likely than not, but hey, that's why I write fanfic. And besides, I had to name Ward's siblings, it would be kind of odd otherwise.

The two of them met at the end of the hallway and glanced at Phil’s office door. Ward inclined his head in greeting.

“Agent May,” he said softly. “Did you just finish training?”

“The idiot called me up here in the middle of it,” Melinda said with a sigh, rubbing her temples. Ward smiled nervously, fidgeting with his hands. She shrugged and added, “I’m sure it’s _important,_ though. He said something about HQ needing us.”

“If you say it’s important, it is,” Ward said. “So, uh…should we go in?”

Melinda knocked once and smiled. “Pretense. It’s important.”

Ward nodded as Phil called, “Come in.”

The two of them entered and stood in front of his desk. Coulson looked haggard, rubbing his temples and sighing. His phone was still in his hand, the cord entangled around his wrist.

“You could probably upgrade that phone, sir,” Ward remarked. Coulson shrugged.

“Could,” he agreed. “But I didn’t ask you here for tech support, Ward. I have a mission for you two.”

“Just the two of us?” Ward said, wrinkling his nose. “I thought you said you wanted all of us working as a team.”

Phil rubbed his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, you see…these orders didn’t quite…come from me,” he said. “Before you throttle me, Mel, I’m sorry.”

He pushed something across the desk to them. Ward looked down, expecting a mission file; what he got instead were two rings. One was plain gold with a single diamond glittering in the center; the other was gold, a fiery red opal set into it with delicate gold filigree tracing the edges.

“There’s hints that Madam Masque and the Kingpin are planning an alliance and are going to be setting up a new base of operations in Paris,” Phil said. “They’ll be attending an exclusive, couples-only ball in two weeks. Until then, the place will be crawling with people watching intently for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to show up and disrupt the proceedings. So, for the next two weeks…”

He gestured to Melinda and deadpanned, “You may kiss the bride.”

Ward’s stomach dropped to his feet. Melinda did not so much as twitch.

“I’m going to rip out Nick’s other eye,” she finally said.

“I’ve got a pair of suitcases full of clothes you’ll want to wear,” Phil said blandly. “You get us to Paris, Mel. I’ll take care of the kids for the next two weeks.”

“Don’t let them go out drinking,” she said, like this was a normal mission, before she turned around and left with an abrupt click of the door closing.

Ward stared at the rings. She’d taken hers without him even noticing. He picked his up hesitantly and wrinkled his nose, just a bit.

“Grant,” Phil said, making him look up. “Make good on this chance.”

“Sir, I’m not—“

“Please do not even start trying to deny it, you’re only hurting us both,” Phil said. “Be good to her. And offer to make the bed for her. She loves that.”

Ward nodded wordlessly and ducked out of his office. Phil just shook his head and sighed, turning back to his paperwork. God, all of them hadn’t worked a mission together in what must’ve been years, and Nick still looked after his own.

…

Ward sat sullenly in the lab. Jemma and Leo walked past him without even batting an eyelash.

“Good to see you back in here, dear,” Jemma said with a smile. “Did Skye put ice cream in your protein shakes again?”

“No,” Ward said, rubbing his temples. “I have to go play house with Melinda for a few weeks as part of a mission.”

“Oh, you should enjoy that,” Skye said. “Ass up on the kitchen floor with an apron on, huh?”

“I can leave you a workload that’ll have you trembling on the floor of the gym, brat,” Ward snapped, trying incredibly hard not to think of the mental image she’d produced. Skye smiled.

“You two aren’t even married yet and you’re cheating on her,” Skye said. “For shame.”

“Let the poor dear be, Skye,” Jemma admonished her gently. “Don’t be nervous, Ward. It’s a lovely opportunity.”

“Not really,” Ward said with a shrug. “Melinda May is professional. Keeps her mind on the mission. Unlike some of the gutter-minded among us. I’m sure nothing’s going to happen, and that’s a good thing.”

Skye grumbled. Fitz tsked, pulling up something on the computer for Jemma as Skye fiddled with her tablet. “I dunno, Ward. A mission like this, that’s a bit different than a ‘point your guns and shoot’ kind of mission, isn’t it?”

Ward shrugged and shook his head. “Honestly, guys, I don’t even know what I’d do with myself if she did, uh…proposition anything. So don’t spend the next two weeks placing bets. There’s nothing to bet on. It’s just…going to be another mission.”

Jemma put a gentle hand on his shoulder and kissed his shoulder; it was all she could reach without standing on tiptoe. Ward smoothed her hair back and smiled fondly down at her, settling in and watching the trio scuttle about and blab to each other about whatever was on the screen, giving him some peace before he felt the plane touch down.

“Don’t get drunk,” he said, giving them all a look. “Phil’s going to be chaperoning, but even so.”

“Yessir,” Jemma promised.

“Fuck you,” Skye said. Ward kissed the top of her head as he left just to hear her squeal and try to hit him.

He joined Melinda in the bay of the plane and smiled, trying to relax and shrug it off. Her face was like stone as Phil handed them a case file.

“Your house keys and address are in there,” he said. “As is everything else you’ll need.”

“We’ll let you know if there’s trouble,” Melinda said, her voice neutral and soft. Ward just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment.

Jemma took his hand for a second and squeezed. After another second, Fitz and Skye took his other one.

“I’ll be safe,” he promised them. “You three come to me if there’s a problem. I’ll be there, promise.”

Jemma nodded, and Ward knew he had to leave; she had the look in her eyes like she was going to cry already. He took the suitcases full of their things and left, refusing to look back at Melinda until absolutely necessary.

…

“It’s a nice little flat,” Melinda said as he unlocked the door. Ward looked around and smiled.

“It really is,” he said with a hum. “Guess we have to keep up pretenses of looking like a rich married couple.”

“Better than the hovels we normally get thrown into,” Melinda remarked. Ward nodded.

“Yeah, it is,” he said, putting the suitcases down. “Do you want me to unpack? I can fold clothes quickly.”

“Interesting talent for someone like you to have,” she remarked with a smile. Ward flinched and cringed.

“It, uh…I’m just used to doing my own laundry,” he mumbled. “That’s all.”

“Well, it’s appreciated,” Melinda said, her voice quiet as she looked him over. “You be careful with what you’re doing, Ward. We need to look like we know one another.”

“I, um…no offense, ma’am, but I’ve spent seven months on a plane with you,” Ward said. “I think I know you well enough.”

“Really?” she said with a little smile. “What kind of tea do I take?”

“Oh, you take two types,” Ward said. “Three, actually, when you’ve been pulling an all-nighter and you’re going to sleep at seven in the morning. Your insomnia tea is chamomile with crushed lavender flowers in it. Two sugars and a teaspoon full of milk. You like green tea, too, with honey and no lemon, but your favorite general tea is actually strawberry with three sugars and two teaspoons of milk. You don’t like letting the others know, because it’s a sweet tea that doesn’t sound very formal or refined.”

Melinda stared at him. Ward hung his head in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll go.”

“That…that was amazing,” Melinda said with a shake of her head. “Impressive, Ward.”

“Thank you,” he whispered before he bolted for the hallway, suitcases in hand. Melinda watched him go with a sigh before making her way through the living room and into the kitchen to see what she could do about dinner.

…

Ward set the suitcases down on the bed and sat down next to them, rubbing his temples.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He was better off just jumping out of this window right now. Let Melinda go to the ball as a grieving widow.

Like she’d even grieve for him, creepy piece of trash that he was. How could he have done that? Why did he say that? Why did he even exist?

Ward swallowed, gasped, and shuddered, hugging the nearest pillow tight to his chest until he could breathe properly, panicked whimpers making his heart ache and his chest flutter.

He shook it off as best as he could after a few minutes, licking his lips and rubbing his forehead again, turning back to the suitcases.

Phil had gotten him a nice suit, he thought as he looked it over. It was better tailored than his work ones. Admittedly, his work ones weren’t much about fashion. Maybe he should get them tailored again? For Melinda. Did she like his suits?

Ward sighed and put the suit in the closet before going through what he assumed was his suitcase. He felt a little surge of relief Phil hadn’t put anything too outlandish in here; a few blazers to go with his tee shirts and jeans, but thankfully, he’d thrown in Ward’s own leather jacket, too. The jacket felt like armor, made him feel safe.

He buried his face in it for a second and inhaled with a soft huff, setting it aside to start working on folding things properly.

He was done with his clothing quickly, folding tee shirts and jeans and lining up the three pairs of shoes on the left side of the bed. The view of the window was lovely, letting them see outside onto the streets below, but Ward saved it for Melinda. The best view he could possibly have was of her in the morning.

It hit him then like a ton of bricks as he started to undo the clasps on the other suitcase; _he and Melinda would be sharing a bed._

He swallowed and glanced down, pursing his lips. He couldn’t sleep too close to her. ‘

But god, how he wanted to.

Ward’s face was pink as he opened the suitcase. The contents within did not help.

He didn’t touch the soft, mesh and lace pink panties that lay on top of the clothing, or the accompanying bra; when he nudged them aside with the back of his hand, he went to pick up other clothing only to come away with a fistful of lacy panties.

He set them aside as well, his face bright red at this point while he tried to choke down his embarrassment. He set aside a long, silky camisole, a pair of sheer pink stockings with lacy garters, accompanying underwear, and matching bras for everything he’d pulled out before he finally reached the clothing. He almost sobbed in relief.

Ward hung up the blouses, skirts, and neatly folded the plain silk stockings that he found with a sigh of complete and utter contentment at the lack of lace. He had gotten most of her casual outfits together; the only thing left at the bottom of the suitcase had to be the dress for the ball.

Ward closed the suitcase and set it on top of his own, putting them next to the bed. He got up and shook his head, glancing at the mirror and smiling a bit when he caught sight of his own bright red face.

No, he’d save the dress for her. He’d wait until he could see her standing before him like a princess. She’d be the most beautiful woman in the world—she already was, but now other people would notice. It wouldn’t matter, though. She’d still be his, and he would stand beside her so the world knew he was hers, too.

He wanted to be hers with such immediate, blinding intensity that he sat back down on the bed for a second and thought of the way she would hold him when they danced—if she knew how to dance? Would she? She must. And she would lead him gently through it and stroke his hair and whisper endearments to him in Chinese, so no one else would get to have them but him.

Ward rubbed his temples and hugged himself, shuddering. Had to stop. Had to. Melinda didn’t love him. Couldn’t love him. Why would anyone love a freakish mess like him?

He stood up and tossed his leather jacket on the bed, making his way into the kitchen with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve never smelled anything so good,” he said, looking around wide-eyed.

“There’s a grocer down the street,” Melinda said, chopping green onions as she spoke. “I picked up a few things.”

“I’m sorry,” Ward murmured. “I’d have gone. I can go next time. Honest.”

“No, it’s fine; you wouldn’t have known the recipe I had in mind,” Melinda said. “We can both go next time. Does that sound fair, Ward?”

He nodded hesitantly, his eyes still downcast. “You don’t need to take me out of pity.”

“I’m not,” Melinda said. “Do you genuinely enjoy grocery shopping?”

“Mmhm,” he mumbled. “I like seeing all the food I want all in order, and all the different things I could pick. It’s neat.”

“It is,” Melinda agreed with a chuckle. “It’s always confusing being in the grocery store for the first time in new places. Whenever we travel, I always find myself wandering around baffled for a few minutes first.”

“Oh, yeah, the layouts change and it’s weird,” Ward agreed. “I always look for the coldest part of the grocery store first; work my way back from the vegetables.”

“Do you eat anything other than vegetables and protein shakes?” Melinda said with a laugh, adding oil to the skillet; Ward skittered back when it flared up.

“Mnnn,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Gluten free pasta.”

“Oh, god,” she breathed, trying to stifle a smile. “You are…”

“I’m sorry,” Ward whispered, his voice breaking in the silence. “Please, I am. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I just, I need to be careful, right? I need to be careful so I can stay strong.”

Melinda paused for a second before checking the contents of the skillet carefully. She lowered the heat and knelt down so they could be eye-level as Ward shook.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” she told him. “You’re doing the right thing, I’m sure, but relax a little once in a while. The world won’t end if you eat a three course meal and ice cream every so often. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Melinda told him. “I’m not blaming you for anything. You’re a good agent. You always have been.”

She smoothed his hair back and Ward thought his heart would burst.

“You’re not an agent here,” she said. “You’re my husband. So act like you enjoy the cooking, okay?”

For a few seconds, he forgot how to breathe.

“S-sure,” he finally managed to choke out. “Your husband. Grant May-Ward.”

“There you go,” Melinda said with a grin. “See? You’re getting the undercover stuff much better now. Remember that fiasco back with the security guard?”

Ward’s stomach plummeted and bile rose in his mouth. The golden warmth in his chest dimmed to something darker than midnight.

“Yes,” he whispered, self-loathing burning his throat as he spoke. “Undercover stuff.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes as she got up and went back to cooking; he just watched her hands move across the cutting board and the way she threw things into the skillet effortlessly.

“You’re good at this,” he said when he could trust himself to talk again. She nodded.

“My parents ran a restaurant,” she said. “A tourist trap in Hong Kong. They wanted to make the best money they could so I could go to university and do something other than make noodles. But they made them by hand, and for hours every night; I didn’t…ever understand why they denigrated their own work. I still don’t.”

“You can’t ask them?” Ward said, head cocked. Melinda huffed.

“I wouldn’t, even if they were still alive,” she said, putting a side of beef on the counter and taking out another knife. Ward flinched.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you have known?” Melinda said. Ward shrugged.

“I know all the different ways you make your tea,” he mumbled.

She actually laughed. “Was that a joke, Grant?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “If you laughed, yes. I like your laugh.”

“Joke it is,” she said. “And it’s all right. Knowing how I take my tea is observation. I admit I’m not exactly forthcoming with my past.”

“S’okay,” Ward said. “You don’t ever need to be. You’re never under any obligation to tell people anything. I know what it’s like to have it be a weapon that ends up used against you.”

Melinda nodded. “But you’re not like that.”

“I’m trying not to be,” Ward said. “Agent or not. I try not to be.”

Melinda nodded again, turning back to dinner. For a little while, the kitchen was completely silent except for the hiss of the skillet.

“I wasn’t a good daughter,” she said. “I was, in that I loved my parents and respected them. But I didn’t see going out and drinking in bars and starting fights with men twice my size over games of billiards as deviations from being a good daughter.”

Ward actually laughed. Melinda sighed and smiled. “It’s how I got into S.H.I.E.L.D., actually; guy I picked a fight with over the ten bucks he stiffed me on our bet happened to be an agent. He didn’t realize I could hand his ass to him, but once I did, he slipped me a hundred and his business card. Told me to call him tomorrow for the best job I’d ever have.”

She shook her head. “Ah, hell. I believed it was the best thing to do at the time. I was a burden on my parents, I figured; they worked their whole lives just to support me, and for what? Why would I make them do that anymore? I was almost eighteen. I could…I could go.”

Melinda shrugged. “In the end, I was a good daughter, but I never thought to ask if that was what they wanted to do. If they _wanted_ to take care of me, best as they possibly could. I just…assumed I wasn’t worth it, and so I left. I said goodbye, I said I loved them, that I was going to make them proud…and I left.”

“And you did,” Ward said. “Melinda, you’re one of the best agents in the whole organization. You made them proud.”

“I suppose,” she said with a sigh. “I got to tell them I loved them. I got to say goodbye. That’s what I tell myself; that I got more than most get. But even so…”

She turned the skillet off with a shudder. “Kitchen fire. Sounds almost ridiculous; after a lifetime of cooking in that restaurant, it took almost fifty years for it to burn to the ground.”

“Oh,” Ward murmured. “Oh, Melinda. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she said. “Couldn’t get leave in time to see them before they died. I did, however, manage the funeral. Again; more than most of our comrades get.”

Ward nodded. “No, it is. I know.”

“I figured you would,” she said, her tone soft. Ward shrugged.

“If you want, I might as well tell you,” he said. “I mean, you told me…you told me all that. And I’m grateful.”

“You’re not obligated to tell me anything,” Melinda said. Ward snorted.

“What, because I think you might use it against me?” he said. “There’s a lot I’m afraid of, Melinda, and I’m sorry, but you’re not on the list. Not even a little bit.”

Melinda watched him, her expression impassive. Ward shrugged.

“Parents stuff,” he said. “You know. The usual. They were…I don’t know what they did. But they were never home. And that made my oldest brother bitter, and fed up, and angry. I guess I don’t blame him for that, but…I do blame him for trying to take it out on my baby brother.”

“But you protected him,” Melinda said. Ward snorted disdainfully.

“Yeah, until I almost got him killed,” he muttered, his voice hateful and sour. “Stupid.”

“You were barely past being a baby yourself,” Melinda murmured. “Why aren’t you blaming your brother?”

“Because I got Dana taken from us,” Ward said. “I got Dana taken away. Because someone saw us by the well and called the cops, and when they came, they saw our house was a mess, and they took Dana. They took all of us, but…Dana was by himself. I was still with Mallory. And he wasn’t happy, either.”

Ward rubbed his shoulder, phantom bruises throbbing over his entire body. “Took Dana six months to come back to us. Mom and dad left as soon as the cops stopped checking in, but…it was okay. I’d learned not to go along with Mallory just because I was scared. I got a lot more bruises and broken bones for it, but that’s okay. I know how to set bones now.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Besides, I don’t mind. Dana’s safe in Michigan now. He’s all right. Married with two kids, couldn’t be happier. And I am, too. I mean, I’m okay.”

“But you still have panic attacks,” Melinda said as she got plates down and glasses a second after, setting them all down on the wooden counters with a soft thud. Ward shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I handle them,” he said. “I’m fine. I can hold my own.”

“I know you can,” Melinda said. “That wasn’t my point.”

Ward looked up at her, baffled. Melinda sighed. “Don’t worry about it. And thank you for telling me.”

“Huh? Oh, it, uh…no problem,” Ward said. “We’ve know each other for awhile now…but not really, uh…’known’ each other, I guess. And that’s okay. But…I like knowing things about you, too. You’re not just the sort of tea you take, or your favorite ice cream. Those are nice things, but I’m not…I don’t want you to think that’s all I care about. I’m here to listen to the bad stuff, too.”

Melinda was silent for a few minutes as she checked on the food one last time, before finally picking the skillet up and spooning food onto both plates.

“You know my favorite ice cream, too?” she said with a small smile. Ward blushed.

“Double chocolate chunk with brownie bits,” he said. “Wasn’t hard. Process of elimination in the fridge. Fitz likes Neapolitan, Jemma likes mint, and Skye likes banana fudge ripple or coconut. Phil likes a lot of kinds; his changes a lot.”

“And you?” Melinda said as she set the plates down. Ward shrugged.

“I don’t eat ice cream,” he said.

“Oh, you will,” Melinda said. “We’ll go out tomorrow. Tonight, jetlag. We never get to sleep off jetlag. But tomorrow, after dinner…”

“So, like ah, uh, ah…like a, you know,” Ward mumbled. He didn’t look up from his food.

“If we find a place nice enough,” Melinda said with a little laugh.

Ward’s heart leapt into his throat and he nodded, digging into his food.

“This is the best,” he said after a few bites. “Wow, I mean, wow.”

“Don’t let Phil hear you say that,” Melinda said with a laugh. “We’ve got an ongoing rivalry about that. But I do appreciate it. I’ve been cooking since I could reach the stove.”

“It’s amazing,” Ward enthused. “Really, thank you, oh wow…”

He took another bite and winced as he thought. He couldn’t just be a hanger-on. He had to show her he could provide.

She’d go out tomorrow for groceries with him, she’d said. Maybe she’d do it again. And he would buy his own things on one of their trips and make her the best dinner he could. Surely she’d want to go out on her own at some point? So he’d do it then. And clean the house. He’d be so good to her. Even if he wasn’t really her husband, he wanted to act like it a little bit.

Maybe a lot of a little bit. But he couldn’t do anything else.

Ward settled in and ate with a sigh, focusing only on the way the food tasted, and not the woman across from him, watching him eat with her eyebrows raised in interest.


	2. Records

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first days of settling in. Ward is not good at being subtle, suave, smooth, or any positive adjective that starts with s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very long chapter!! I did cut this one into much bigger chunks rather than dragging it out; it's only 20k, after all. So hopefully it comes off well despite being huge chunks of prose?  
> Anyway, this is mostly flirting and awkward tension. Which are fun to do with this couple! And it just feels good to update regularly again, haha. Hope everyone enjoys!

The two of them looked at each other after dinner and raised twin eyebrows, blinking.

“Ah,” Ward said. “First, uh; it’s okay if we’re not using…codenames, right?”

“Our names aren’t widely known in the criminal underworld, thank god,” Melinda said. “You can just call me Melinda and I’ll call you Grant. We ought to keep from using each other’s last names, though; just in case. Phil had fake names registered on the guest list at the ball, but don’t worry about those until later.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Ward agreed, his face pink. “Melinda. Melinda…”

He exhaled and shook his head. “Second, um…you can have the shower first. If you want. I’ll make up the bed and…put a movie in, maybe? Do you want to watch a movie, or just sleep?”

“We can have it on as background noise,” Melinda said. “I think that’d be pleasant. And…thank you, yes. I’ll shower first if you’re making up the bed.”

“Of course!” Ward said, getting up and taking the plates to the sink. “I can clean these. You go, you can have some privacy if I clean.”

“Thank you,” Melinda said, getting up and leaving the kitchen. Ward waited until he could hear the click of the bedroom door shutting to start running the water, letting it get hot as he ran it over the plates.

“This feels nice,” he announced to no one in particular. He didn’t mind that no one heard; it was honestly probably better that way.

He hummed, content, as he started to run the sponge over the plates from dinner; it took him a few minutes, but he remembered enough of the words to one of Phil’s old jazz records that he started to sing actual words.

He’d pick up some CDs tomorrow, maybe. Or at least a radio. What sort of music did she like? Something soft, with violins? Or would she surprise him with something completely off the wall? Maybe she was into the Sex Pistols.

Ward smiled at the thought of Melinda thirty years ago, fierce and vicious and outfitted in leather.

He banished the thought as quickly as it started to turn on him, his face pink as he finished up scrubbing.

He put the plates on the little wooden drying rack and waited until he heard the water die down. He swept up around the table, just to give Melinda a few minutes to towel off and dress, before going into the bedroom and shaking out the blanket, smoothing it back over the bed as she walked in.

“That’s, uh, a nice…robe,” Ward said, his face flushed. “Is it yours?”

“It was in the clothing,” Melinda said, doing a little turn to make the short hem flutter. “Did you not notice?”

“I, uh, didn’t…pay a lot of attention to what was in the clothing, ma—Melinda,” he said. “I, uh, uh didn’t…think I should be…paying a significant amount of attention to your lingerie.”

_You’re supposed to be married, you complete idiot._

“Because, uh, it’s…not that important,” he said. “Compared to your body. And being on the floor.”

Melinda stared at him. Ward’s entire chest had shriveled and collapsed in on itself with the force of his shudder.

“I’ll, uh, go shower,” he said.

He got up and went for the bathroom, panic making his steps shaky.

Melinda kissed his cheek as he went. “You’re rather sweet, you know.”

Ward nodded numbly until he shut the door between them and slid down against it, his back pressed against the cool, velvety wood as he hid his face in his hands, beaming.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled. “Why did Phil pick me? Why didn’t he go with her? She deserves somebody like him; someone tough and experienced and…and, y’know.”

He sighed and rubbed his temples. Shower. Right. He could shower.

He got up with a groan and stripped down, folding his jeans and tee shirt before leaving them on the edge of the sink, throwing his leather jacket on the open towel hook before he took off his briefs and set them aside, turning the shower on and climbing in.

Ward groaned in pleasure at the hot water pounding his back, going to grab a bottle of shampoo as he leaned over to rifle through the shower rack. He looked at the shower rack and blinked, his face flushing.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “I think this is all Melinda’s.”

He selected the shampoo bottle and only used a few squirts of shampoo; it  _was_  hers. He hadn’t realized he’d need to pack things like that. Ah, well; he’d buy them tomorrow.

Ward rubbed it through his hair before doing the same with the conditioner, only pausing when he saw a bar of soap sitting innocently on the rack.

Ward picked up the purple soap and cocked his head. It smelled like lavender. It smelled like Melinda.

He felt unreasonably creepy as he rubbed it over a washcloth, but the smell soothed him as he ran it over his face, neck and shoulders, moving down to scrub his chest, so he hoped she wouldn’t mind much. It was silly, but…the smell made him feel safe.

He washed himself entirely clean and grabbed a towel, leaving the bathroom as soon as he was dry without thinking much of it until he looked at the bed and saw Melinda staring back at him with raw, blatant interest on her face.

He blushed and tried to cover his chest with his towel until he realized that probably just made everything worse. Melinda smiled.

“If you want to get dressed in privacy, I’ll go,” she teased. Ward swallowed.

“Er, uh, no…I mean, yes, but, uh…cover,” he mumbled. “Jesus. I hope the house isn’t bugged.”

“We haven’t gone out much, so even if there’s somebody who would bug our house in town, they haven’t cottoned on yet,” Melinda said. “Better to mess up now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma—Melinda, shit,” Ward said, rubbing his temples as the towel dropped to his ankles. “Are you okay if I just…get dressed in here?”

“You’re already naked,” she said, trying to hide a smile as she gestured to his chest. Ward’s whole body burned with humiliation.

“Right,” he whispered, turning around and opening the dresser, stepping behind the door for some semblance of modesty. Melinda averted her gaze; as much as she wanted to drink in the sight of Ward’s chest bright red with his blush, his back muscles flexing as he threw on a tee shirt and the graceful arch of his calves as he pulled on boxers, she—

Well, she  _was_ only human, and he  _was_ beautiful. And so clearly enamored. More was the pity for him, of course.

Ward turned back to her and gestured down to his clothing. “Is this, uh…is this okay? Can I sleep like this with you…you know, in the…the bed. Our bed.”

“You’re fine,” Melinda said. “You look fine, Ward.”

“No, I know, but, uh, if you wanted me to put pants on, I would,” Ward said. Melinda smiled.

“I don’t,” she said, beckoning to him. “Come sit. I put a movie on already.”

“Okay,” Ward said, climbing into bed next to her. “I gave you the window. It’s pretty, right?”

“Beautiful,” she said. “I’ve always liked Paris.”

“I’ve never been,” Ward said with a yawn. “Not unless it was for a mission. The missions were nice, I guess.”

“We’ll go out,” Melinda said, throwing an arm over him absently, smiling when she felt him stiffen beneath her touch. “We’ve got two weeks. And we have to act like a couple, don’t we?”

“Am I doing a good job?” Ward said. “I want to do the best I can for you, Melinda, I promise.”

 “You need to be a little more natural,” Melinda said, drumming her fingers idly on his shoulder. “You can relax, you know. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“It’s not…I don’t think that,” Ward said. “I know you won’t. It’s not because I’m scared you’ll hurt me. Honest.”

“Then what’s bothering you, sweet one?” Melinda murmured, a small grin on her face as he flushed from the endearment.

“I don’t want this,” he said firmly. “I don’t want…I don’t want…teasing. I mean. Please.”

“Then what do you want?” Melinda asked. Ward shook his head.

“It’s…nothing,” he said. “I don’t know. But…I don’t want anything tonight. Not even for the sake of cover.”

Melinda raised an eyebrow. “You seemed pretty eager before you got dressed.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Ward said. “I’m not—I don’t—“

He paused. He didn’t know how to explain why this bothered him; the reasons seethed and burned inside of his chest, but he couldn’t quite place them, let alone make sense of them.

“I’m…I don’t want you…I mean, not like this,” Ward mumbled. “I don’t want anything we do to be that way. I don’t know. I’m tired.”

Melinda huffed. “Then sleep, Grant.”

“Mmn,” he mumbled, rolling over and closing his eyes. He was sure she knew he was faking as he slowed his breathing and relaxed his body, but he couldn’t force it. Sleep wasn’t as important as the tight, panicked feeling in his chest, his anxieties sewing his ribs together, crushing his heart and twisting his stomach.

Stupid. This was all so stupid. He could roll over right now and kiss her, bring her body close to his, and let her have what she wanted. But he wanted more than that. He just…didn’t know how to tell her.

Ward looked over at Melinda one last time before he drifted off and sighed, murmuring something quiet in French.

“You don’t love me, Ward.”

Her voice, muted and cold, was the last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness. All his nightmares were of frothing wave and vicious, rushing water over his head and drowning him in darkness, suffocating his lungs and choking the valves in his heart.

 _I do, Melinda,_  he spoke to the churning, shivering waves.  _I do, I do…_

The water filled his mouth, and he started to scream.

…

The next morning, neither of them said a word to each other as they awoke. Ward got up and pulled on a pair of jeans, exchanging his tee shirt for another one and a casual jacket. He left before Melinda could get out of bed, going to make coffee.

He took out two mugs; he wasn’t cruel, that much was for sure. He was a lot of things—including unloveable trash—but he wasn’t cruel. He loved her. He did, he did, he did…

_It’s not about you._

He shivered and hugged himself, even though the room was mildly warm. His anxiety swelled up in him like a wave, threatening to drown him as it had in his nightmares.

Ward took a deep breath and licked his lips. That was just it, though. It wasn’t about him. It was about her. Melinda didn’t think he could love her. That’s all. It had only been a day. He could fix that. He could change that, he could show her, help her—he could prove he loved her. Because he knew she was wrong; he did. And…and she hadn’t said she didn’t love him.

Hope flickered like a lighthouse in his chest, a way out of the shuddering, terrible tides; he let the light warm him and give him something to hold onto as he made them both coffee.

He entered her room carefully and quietly, setting the mugs of coffee down on the night stand. She rolled over and yawned, stirring and rubbing her temples. Ward waved shyly.

“I made coffee,” he said by way of explanation. “I thought we could enjoy a cup in bed before we go out and, mm, ah…do couple things.”

“You know how I take my coffee?” Melinda said, picking the mug up and raising an eyebrow. Ward picked up the other mug with a little huff.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “It’s easier than your tea. Black, straight up.”

He smiled and took a sip of his. “That’s awfully impressive, you know. I don’t take mine black. Everyone teases me, because I guess…I guess I look like the kind of guy that would?”

“You do,” Melinda agreed. Ward shrugged and took a sip of his.

“I like it milky and sweet though,” he said. “That’s how Gramsy used to make it. She was the one who got me drinking coffee when I went to stay with her, and I guess I just…never changed my tastes. It’s nice to have one sweet thing in my diet.”

“Do you just eat salad and protein shakes?” Melinda teased before she saw him nod. She huffed. “Grant, honestly.”

“I have to stay in shape,” he said. “It’s a struggle. I used to, um. Get picked on a lot. And not just by my brother, I mean, I was—I was just…weird and chubby and didn’t know how to talk to people. I don’t want to go back to how I was as a kid again. S’like…the only thing standing between me and that kid is a few third helpings at dinner, you know?”

He blinked and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Sorry. Sleepy. Saying stupid stuff. You can ignore me.”

“It’s all right,” Melinda said, her voice careful and tender. “You’re fine, Grant. Absolutely fine. I’m glad you’re concerned with your health, but…this isn’t healthy either.”

Ward shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do, Melinda. Do you?”

She almost retorted with something snotty and barbed; the word had blossomed on her lips as she opened her mouth. It was only when she met his eyes and realized it was a completely genuine question that she closed her mouth.

“No, Grant,” she said after a pause. “I’m afraid I don’t know. But I don’t think you being stupid or not knowing how to talk to people is an issue. You and I have been talking, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, okay,” Ward said with a snort. “You think I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t,” Melinda said. “Don’t mistake my intentions.”

“No offense, Melinda, but I don’t even know what your intentions are,” Ward said with a sigh.

“Jemma and Leo think you hold the world in your hand,” Melinda said. “You floor the two of them, you know. They’re thoroughly convinced you’re better than James Bond.”

“They’re wrong, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Ward said with a shrug. Melinda resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Skye keeps you on your toes, I know,” she said, “but she likes you. She’s just not…she doesn’t quite show it the way you’d expect, I think.”

Ward shrugged again, noncommittal. Melinda sighed. “Then at least recognize that Phil wanted you on this team for a purpose. He handpicked you, Grant. You’re not the same kid as you were. You’re not a kid anymore at all, Grant. You have people who appreciate you—who like you, want you around.”

“But none of them are you,” Ward blurted out. “Isn’t that right?”

The room fell silent. Ward looked down at his coffee cup and dreamed of drowning in it.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Melinda said. “But you’re getting in over your head, Grant. And expecting too much.”

“If you think I expect anything at all, you misunderstand me,” Ward said. “I don’t  _expect_  anything. All I have is hope.”

The two of them settled into silence. Ward resisted the urge to throw his hands up and leave. She wasn’t saying anything, and so he could finish his coffee in silence too.

“Let’s go for a walk on the Seine,” Melinda said. “Hold hands. Nuzzle a bit. You know the drill. Grocery shopping after.”

“Right,” Ward agreed weakly, getting up out of bed and getting dressed. Melinda’s eyes watched him as he gathered up his clothes and headed for the bathroom. She didn’t sigh until the door had shut between them and she heard the sink running.

“Men,” she muttered, getting up and slugging back the last of her coffee before going to see what could be done about finding something casual and comfortable to wear.

He came back out to her in a leather jacket and jeans, wearing a shirt he was picking at with a frown.

“I really don’t think HQ knows my size,” he grumbled. “This is way too small on me.”

Melinda stared at the shirt. “Because it’s mine, Grant.”

“Oh!” Ward said, his entire face flushing bright red. “Oh, Jesus, I’m so damn sorry, hold on, I—“

He stopped talking long enough to shuck his jacket and lift the shirt up over his head, folding it neatly and setting it on the bed before backing away and hitting the dresser. He hissed in pain and turned around, grabbing a shirt and bolting back for the bathroom to dress.

Melinda waited until he came back out to her, his face still smarting and his eyes downcast as he shrugged.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. I probably stretched it out and ruined it. Sorry.”

“It wasn’t my shirt originally, so it doesn’t mind,” Melinda said. “It’s not my size anyway. And I like my clothing a little loose when it’s casual.”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t—didn’t see it in the suitcases, I didn’t…uh,” he trailed off, his face pink. “Melinda, to be entirely honest, I didn’t think you wore tee shirts.”

Melinda actually smiled, just a bit. Ward’s face flushed darker.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You couldn’t have possibly known. I’ve never worn the shirt in front of the team.”

“Whose…shirt is it?” Ward asked. Melinda shrugged, heading for the door and making her way down the hallway, towards the front door.

“My mother’s,” she said. Ward nodded.

“I’m glad you still have it,” he replied. “I really am. So, uh…”

He laughed a little. “So, not a fan of the Beatles?”

“No, I am,” Melinda said, not noticing how he relaxed, complete relief evident on his face with her back turned. “My mother went to one of their concerts when she was a young teenager. It was the only time she ever went to a concert, but she loved them with all her heart.”

Melinda laughed and Ward practically glowed as he savored the sound, taking it in and sighing in bliss as quietly as he could.

“There were Beatles records playing in the restaurant almost the entire time they had it up and running,” she said. “My mother would bring one in from her collection every day; a different one each week. They rotated out tracks. It was supposed to bring people in as repeat customers; see which of the records was playing today. That’s what she told my father, anyway. I knew she just loved the music.”

“Do you, uh,” Ward said, “have any of the records?”

“None,” Melinda said. “The apartment was above the restaurant; it burned too.”

“Oh,” Ward murmured. “I’m sorry, Melinda.”

“It’s fine,” Melinda said with a shrug. “I haven’t listened to them in years and years. I don’t have much time to collect records anymore.”

“Coulson’s got that Captain America collection,” Ward said. “Didn’t his gran start it with him?”

“Coulson is a special case in a lot of ways,” Melinda said with a snort. “Don’t worry about it.”

Ward just let it drop for the moment, following her down the street. “Are we going to walk to the Seine?”

“It runs through Paris, Grant,” Melinda said. “We don’t have to go far. And we’ll stop for lunch along the way. Being out all day allows us to scope out the place, right?”

“Right,” Ward said with a nod. “It’ll be fun, right?”

“Hope so,” Melinda said. Ward sighed and turned the corner with her.

“Me too,” he muttered as quietly as he could, rubbing his temples before he jogged a bit to catch up to her side, the two of them making their way down to the Seine.

He was arm in arm with her before he realized; he nodded and smiled, saying nothing as they started down the path beside the river, a bubble of utter contentment swelling up in his chest as he let her lead him forward.

Their walk was long and mostly silent; Ward made no comment on it, as the few glances he made her way let him know why. Melinda surveyed the area around them—searching for familiar faces, he supposed. Madame Masque and the Kingpin were too easily recognizable to show up for a casual lunch along the banks of the Seine, but there were always the repeat offender underlings.

Ward didn’t mention it, keeping his eyes out for any familiar faces as well; the only thing that almost made him speak was, after a few hours of walking through Paris, Melinda laid her head on his shoulder.

He paused for a second, debating, before he dipped his head down to press a kiss into her hair. Melinda didn’t say anything—but that meant she didn’t reprimand him, either, and for that Ward was grateful as he straightened up and continued on their walk.

As he looked around, his eyes fell on a record store and lit up. He smiled, looking over at the woman next to him to make sure she hadn’t seen him before he gestured down the river.

“Hey,” Ward said, “do you want to find us a place for lunch, Melinda?”

“Anywhere you have to be, Grant?” Melinda said. Ward shrugged.

“Ah, I just saw something interesting,” he said. “I’ll go take a quick look while you find a café? Let me know when you do and I’ll join you.”

“All right,” Melinda said with a shrug. “Be safe.”

“I will,” Ward said, smiling and trying not to let on how her words had warmed him down to his toes. “I will, Melinda, I promise.”

He kissed her hand and left her, waiting until she’d started to walk away and find a café to bolt into the record store.

“I need all the Beatles records you have,” Ward said to the woman running the store, slipping into French without even batting an eyelash. “And a record player, too.”

She giggled, getting out of her chair and heading for the back of the store. Ward followed her into the back, holding tight to the record player she plunked into his arms.

“For your woman outside?” she teased. Ward shrugged, his face tinted pink.

“Always,” he said without quite thinking about it, but evidently it was the right answer, as she started to coo in delight, murmuring about young love in French as she rifled through their records, stacking a good six or seven up onto the record player before adding a few more. Ward sighed and decided to hail a taxi for back home before going to find her at the café.

He rung up his purchases and thanked the woman in French before he left, hailing a taxi and sitting in the cab with a record player and a good ten records. He exhaled and rubbed his temples, a small smile on his face.

That had been ridiculous, definitely; even so, it was one of the best things he’d ever done. He hadn’t surprised someone with a gift since he’d managed to scrape together enough cash to buy his brother a bag of candy for Christmas.

Would she like it? He hoped he wasn’t overreaching his boundaries. Even so. They were just records, weren’t they? He knew the meaning they had to her, but…he wasn’t buying her a diamond ring. This could be a gesture between friends, probably.

He was jolted out of his musing when the cab stopped; he paid and thanked the driver, carrying the records into the house.

He set the record player up in the kitchen, clearing some counter space to set it up and leave the records beside it, far away from any of the food.

He smiled, content, as he made his way back outside and checked his phone.

“Ah, that’s not far,” Ward said with a hum as he read her message. “I can walk…”

He frowned. “Well, a walk would take fifteen minutes to get to her and a taxi would take five…”

He went outside and hailed a taxi.

Melinda looked up when he entered the café and settled in across from her with a smile.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Ever had macarons? They’re fantastic. Mascarpone filling is my favorite, but whipped chocolate’s pretty good too. We could order a plate with coffee, if you want.”

“I thought you didn’t want sweets?” Melinda said. Ward shook his head.

“No,” he said. “But, um, I thought you might like them.”

“It’d be unfair to eat them in front of you, but I’ll keep them in mind,” Melinda said. “Thank you, Grant.”

“Ah, okay,” Ward agreed. Melinda surveyed him with a raised eyebrow.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked. Ward sighed.

“God, I hope so,” he said. “I guess ‘hoping for the best’ is an option?”

“Well, I suppose,” Melinda said. “But you just went looking. How could you not know?”

Ward smiled, his face pink. “Ah, don’t worry about it.”

Melinda gave him an odd look, but to his relief, let it drop. “Grocery shopping after this? The walk to the grocery store and the time it’ll take to pick out what we need should give us some time to settle in and relax before dinner.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Ward agreed. “I think it’ll be fun. You know more about this than I do.”

“What, grocery shopping? Don’t worry about it,” Melinda said. “You’ll enjoy it, guaranteed. I’ll walk you through the place.”

“Thank you,” Ward murmured. “Sorry, Melinda. Last time I went grocery shopping was for ramen and peanut butter.”

Melinda was quiet for a few minutes before she took his hand and squeezed.

“You’re not in that place anymore,” she promised him.

“No, I’m not,” Ward agreed. “I’m here with you.”

Melinda said nothing, but Ward imagined a faint smile had spread across her lips, like a breeze that sent a hint of snow up into the air to sparkle.

They didn’t speak again until they ordered their coffees; a mocha with hazelnut syrup for Melinda and espresso for Ward. They ordered lunch a few minutes later; a turkey club for Ward and a roast beef melt for Melinda.

“What do you say to walking home again?” Ward offered. “The city’s beautiful.”

“It’s not a long walk,” Melinda said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

She shrugged. “We’ll go out at night sometime. It should look lovely lit up.”

“It will,” Ward promised with a smile. “I’ve seen it lit up sometimes, flying over the city. It’s the most beautiful view in the world, honestly.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Melinda said with a little laugh. Ward blushed.

“It really is,” he said. “Of a city, I mean.”

Ward hoped it was her turn to blush, but he didn’t dare look up to check. He only looked up when there was a cup of coffee in front of him, and he sipped it with trembling hands.

The two of them left and walked back towards the house; Melinda checked her wallet as they approached and shrugged. “We’ve got nothing to drop off. Would you like to just go pick up groceries now?”

“Sure,” Ward said. “Gives us more time to put something together. I’m not used to making fancy things, but I’ll do whatever you need me to do to pitch in, Melinda.”

“It’s appreciated,” Melinda said. “Two pairs of hands in the kitchen can be useful.”

“Well, I’m not much use,” Ward said with a shrug. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Melinda said as she made her way down the street with him. “Besides, we’ve got almost two weeks. You can certainly learn to cook in two weeks, Grant.”

“I’d love to,” Ward said. “If you’re offering to teach me, Melinda, I’m willing to learn.”

“My parents always thought I would teach my children,” Melinda said with a small smile. “Always telling me to teach my daughter to use her hands well and work hard. I suppose they wouldn’t mind if I taught a partner.”

“I’m sure they’re glad their work is being passed on at all,” Ward said. “Don’t worry. I know. I always thought…I thought maybe I could have kids too. Make sure I did right by them; the way I did for Dana. The way my parents didn’t do for me.”

“But it didn’t work out?” Melinda asked, though there was barely a need. Ward shrugged.

“Mm,” he said. “I never did have kids, obviously. But Dana did. He’s married now; two kids and a nice wife. He’s a good dad. I don’t get to see them much, but I send Christmas cards and all the money I can. He has a good life—a normal life. All I wanted, Melinda.”

“Not for yourself?” Melinda asked.

Ward smiled and shook his head, putting his hands in his pockets and looking up at the sky. The sunset had bled all the colors together, running down like old paint into the darkness.

“It’s never been about me,” he said.

The two of them fell into silence for a few minutes as they walked down the street to the grocery store. Just before they went in, Melinda’s hand found his.

Ward squeezed her hand back and smiled.

They entered the grocery store and Ward winced at the cool gust of air; Melinda chuckled. “They air condition it in here for the vegetables, Grant. What were you expecting?”

“No, I know, but wow,” Ward said. “Jesus, I feel like I should’ve brought a coat.”

“You’ll be fine,” Melinda teased him. “Quit whining.”

Ward grumbled and let her pick up the shopping basket. “Are we going to need another?”

“Possibly,” Melinda said. “If you’d like to carry one, we could split the burden easier.”

He picked up two. Melinda raised an eyebrow. “One is fine, Grant.”

“No, but,” he said, “I want to carry it all. It’s fine! I can do it!”

“Do you know what ‘splitting the burden’ means, dear?” Melinda said. Ward’s stomach warmed up at the endearment.

“Ah, yeah, but,” he trailed off as she took one from him and settled it on the pile of baskets. “Melinda, I can do it by myself…”

“I appreciate the help, but there’s no need to peacock,” Melinda said with a huff as they made their way down to the vegetables. “I’ve seen you perform much more amazing feats of physical prowess, Grant.”

“Uh, in bed?” Ward said.

Melinda turned around and rolled her eyes at him. He held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying, we have to act—“

“I know how we have to act,” Melinda said, “and I am more than well aware of your prowess. Your flirting, however, needs work.”

“Well, you’re teaching me how to cook,” Ward said, “teach me how to flirt, too.”

This was ridiculous. This wasn’t even good cover. A husband shouldn’t be asking his wife to flirt with him.

She turned and pushed him against the wall. The boxes behind him rattled precariously on the shelf as she leaned in close.

“Not here,” she purred in a way that send lightning down his spine.

“Right,” he said once he could breathe properly again. “Sure. Okay. Sounds—sounds great. What…what do I need to get for dinner, dear?”

Melinda pulled away and smiled at him. Ward thought it was affectionate. He could never tell with her.

“Go get some green onions,” she said. “And I’ll need eggs and soy sauce and a bag of brown rice. Can I trust you with that?”

“Yes, love,” Ward murmured in French. Melinda gave him a look.

“Foreign tongues don’t set me on fire either,  _darling,_ ” she murmured to him in Chinese. Ward huffed.

“Sorry,” he said, still speaking French, “it’s just habit.”

“Of course,” Melinda said. Ward resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he went to gather together what she’d asked of him.

He watched her from across the grocery store as she picked up a few other items; he found the green onions and eggs quickly, taking a bottle of soy sauce and putting it in his basket as he passed her to grab the rice. He stopped as he walked by, noticing the way her hand lingered over two boxes of brightly colored sweets; she looked to be considering one or the other before sighing and turning away, choosing neither.

Ward waited until she was gone to stow away both packets of sweet, puffy marshmallow fruit candy in his basket, ringing his things up as discreetly as he could before he joined her, bags in his hand.

“You didn’t wait for me at checkout?” Melinda said, brows raised. Ward shrugged.

“I found what you asked me to get,” he said. “Are you ready to go, Melinda?”

“One more thing,” she said, selecting a neatly wrapped package of beef strips. “Patience, Grant.”

“I—okay, but—“

She just smiled and breezed past him—and he knew it had to be a real smile this time, because it felt like it had set him on fire.

He smiled, shook his head, and followed after her towards the checkout as she bought her own things and the two of them headed home.


	3. Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda shows off sweet ink. Grant is a good housewife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly make these chapters a lot longer than the chapters of the other fic, and I think it's just because with fluff and happiness, I don't feel the need to stagger short chapters and create drama? Must be.  
> Anyways, have more domestic fluff and headcanons, that's really the only reason I wrote this. Enjoy!

When they entered, Ward was casual about entering the kitchen; he set up the record player as she took everything out.

“Grant, what are these marshmallow candies doing in your bag?” Melinda said. “I thought you didn’t like sweets.”

“Oh, I must’ve put them in there when I went to grab the rice,” he said as he took out one of the records, covering his movements with his positioning as he spoke. “I’m not going to have them. Help yourself.”

She didn’t say anything, but he hadn’t exactly been expecting her to. She just started to fill pots with water and take out things from the drawers; he heard her start chopping the green onions, the knife clacking against the wooden board as he adjusted the needle and _“_ Hard Day’s Night” filled the kitchen.

He got a response this time; the knife clattering to the cutting board. The silence beneath the frantic guitars and bright, cheerful voices of the Beatles deafened him.

“You didn’t peg me as a Beatles fan,” Melinda finally said. Ward lifted the needle.

“I’m more of a Billy Joel guy, honestly,” he said. “But I saw a record store and I figured, hey…”

“Grant, these are vintage, they had to cost money,” Melinda protested. He shrugged.

“Mission budget,” he said. “We can write these off as business expenses. Phil definitely can. He’s the king of that sort of thing.”

She fell silent again. Ward’s face was pink as he gestured to the records. “Do you…you do want them, right? I’m not…like, dishonoring anyone’s memory by…”

“No, Grant,” she said, his name softer on her lips than it ever had been before. “You’re fine.”

“Ah, then…I’m glad,” he said, beaming. “So, show me how to prepare this?”

She took a second to re-orient herself before she gestured to the pans. “Fill those up with oil.”

He put the record back on and did as he was asked. For a little while, they cooked in silence; he cracked eggs, mixed soy sauce into rice, and added a few vegetables into the mix. Melinda went and turned the record over eventually; he heard her singing the songs under her breath and wished he had some way to turn the record down, just to savor the sound of her voice.

“Hey, Melinda?” Ward said as she turned around to examine his work on the fried rice. “Weren’t you going to teach me to flirt tonight?”

She didn’t say anything as she checked on his progress for a second.

Then she kissed his cheek and smiled.

“You don’t need to know how to flirt,” she said.

Ward felt like the sun had lit up his insides as he finished mixing the rice together.

…

Dinner was slower that night; Melinda made tea after they put together dinner. Ward let her do that on her own; he took a few peeks into the kitchen when he got up to switch the records every so often and decided that was definitely Melinda’s territory.

“It tastes amazing,” he decided after having a sip. “I’ve never had tea before.”

“Really? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Melinda said with a chuckle. “Most S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are rather uncreative with how they get their caffeine.”

“Oh, well, that too,” Ward agreed. “But it probably wouldn’t taste as good as yours if I just had it in a bag, right?”

“Definitely,” Melinda said with a little chuckle. “You’re welcome to try, but I guarantee it won’t.”

“I figured,” Ward said with a smile. “That’s all right. Tea can stay between just the two of us.”

“Plenty of people drink tea, Grant,” Melinda said. Ward shrugged.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Plenty of people like the Beatles.”

Melinda frowned. Grant said nothing, taking another sip of his tea.

“What are we going to do for the next week?” he asked after a few more minutes of silence. Melinda shrugged.

“Be tourists,” she said. “Visit art museums. Look lovey-dovey. I can’t think of anything else we have to do aside from pretend.”

“Right,” Ward said with a sigh. “Is there anything you want to do, Melinda?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I do…”

“What?” he asked. She shrugged again, looking away.

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “This is nice, though.”

“This being…” Ward trailed off as she frowned.

“This being dinner,” she said. “I know there’s a lot of good restaurants in Paris, but…I liked cooking tonight. We could do that again.”

Ward’s heart seized up in delight as he nodded and smiled.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We definitely could. And I’d be okay with that, too.”

“I think you’d be more than okay with it,” she teased him, but it was lighthearted and casual, and it didn’t make him hurt to laugh about it.

“Well, it was nice,” he said. “Tonight, I mean. I learned a lot about you today. And I’d like to think I made you happy, too. So all in all, I think I had a good night.”

He stood up and took their plates, leaving the teacups. “I’ll wash these. You can put on a movie, if you want? We could just sit on the couch for a bit.”

“When have you ever done that?” Melinda asked. “Just sat on the couch and watched a movie?”

“Mm? Never,” Ward said with a smile. “Especially not after a nice dinner. Sounds exciting, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” Melinda agreed, getting up and putting the teacups in the sink after she drained hers, going into the living room to turn on the television and fiddle with the DVD player that was hooked up to the cable box.

Ward could hear her muttering bitterly in Chinese as he washed the plates, and he smiled to himself as he cleaned them and set them aside, heading back into their bedroom to undress and put his pajamas on, throwing a red pair of flannel pants over his briefs before he made his way back into the living room to settle in beside Melinda and smile, closing his eyes as he laid her head on her shoulder.

“How’s it going?” he asked, trying not to laugh. Melinda grumbled.

“You do it,” she said. “The instructions are in French.”

“Okay, okay,” Ward said, getting up and looking over the instruction manual. “You don’t speak French?”

“Not enough to decipher instructions for a DVD player,” Melinda said with a huff. “Are you teasing me, Grant?”

“No, but it is pretty amusing,” he said with a little laugh. She rolled her eyes and shot him a look.

“Don’t even, there’s plenty of things I barely trust you to do without burning down the Bus,” she said. Ward smiled.

“Yeah, well, you let me do them anyway,” he said with a laugh. Melinda settled in on the couch, tossing a throw pillow at his head. He ducked it and grinned as it bounced off the television screen.

“You want to go get pajamas on and shower while I do this?” he suggested. “It’ll only be a couple more minutes.”

Melinda got up with a nod, leaving the room as Ward finished attaching a few cables to the television. “Oh, and grab my bag? It has some DVDs in it.”

“I thought you weren’t a movie person,” Melinda called through the house. Ward huffed.

“I said I didn’t have time to watch them,” he said, “Not that I didn’t want to.”

Melinda was silent, but he could hear her picking up his bag and putting it down with a soft thump on the bed, so he would take that as a good sign. He smiled and finished work on the cables, standing up and settling back in on the couch, DVD remote in hand.

Melinda came back out in the Beatles shirt he’d worn that morning and a pair of shorts; Ward opened his mouth to say something before realizing he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Oh, you look…you look…uhm, nice shirt.”

“The shoulder hem’s a bit stretched,” Melinda said with a shrug. “I’m not surprised, though. You have broad shoulders.

“Right,” he managed to force out after a few painfully long minutes. “Even so, you look…uh, did you get the bag?”

“I did,” she said with the hint of a smile on her face as she set it down. “Do you have any movies in here other than westerns?”

“Probably,” Ward agreed. “It, um—“

He paused, looking at her shoulder. “Melinda, there’s something on your skin. Didn’t you just shower?”

“What? Oh—“ Melinda actually laughed. “Oh, Grant. It’s my tattoo.”

Ward sat down on the floor and shook his head. “A tattoo? Really? Like…a real tattoo?”

“As opposed to a fake one?” she said, unable to keep a smile from crossing her face. Ward huffed.

“No, just…I mean, I didn’t think you’d have a tattoo,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d get one.”

“It started out small,” Melinda said, shrugging off her shirt as she spoke. “Then I actually got in the chair, and it just…grew. I didn’t want something so important to be so small on my skin.”

Ward’s heart leapt into his mouth as she stripped, and he wanted to protest, until he saw the simple sports bra underneath—the sort of thing they sparred together in. He bit back a sigh of relief as she turned around enough for him to see it.

“It…oh,” Ward breathed, all other thoughts swept away from him as he looked at her skin. “Oh, wow. I’ve never seen a tattoo look like something so beautiful.”

“Tattoos aren’t just for lowlifes, Grant,” Melinda said with a soft snort. Ward shrugged.

“I dunno, I just saw a lot on people like that I knew,” he said. “My dad and stuff. But—but they never had anything like this. It was never meant to be pretty.”

“This isn’t just pretty,” Melinda said as he took in the fish leaping up a river of fire on her back. There was a gate at the edge of the river; Ward took in the sinuous coils of the dragon perched atop it with a wide smile. “This is symbolic. It’s important.”

“The myth,” Ward murmured. “About the carp and the dragon?”

“Mm,” Melinda said. “You know it?”

“It was in one of the books I read while I was studying Mandarin,” Ward explained. “I think it fits you, Melinda. And I think your tattoo is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. Ward reached out, his fingertips hovering over the tattoo for a second, curious. Melinda nodded, and he lowered his touch so he could brush it lightly over the river of fire, the carp swimming diligently upstream, until finally, the dragon, with bright sapphire eyes, clutched the gate in its powerful claws, above the blaze of the fire and keeping the pearl between its talons safe from harm.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Oh, wow…”

He moved his hand away and let her get dressed, looking away. She smiled when she was sure his gaze wasn’t on her before she unzipped his bag and huffed.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said with a snort. “If it’s not Clint Eastwood, it’s Sean Connery, huh?”

“Hey, rude,” Ward said with a grin. “I’ve got something else, I’m sure. Just keep looking.”

“Okay, so…” Melinda rifled through the stack with a smile. “Tarantino, Bond movies, or westerns seem to be our options here.”

“Look, I like _Reservoir Dogs,_ okay?” Ward grumbled. Melinda laughed.

“You’re an actual secret agent,” she said, putting _The Man with the Golden Gun_ into the DVD player. “You don’t need any of this.”

“Yeah, but it’s fun,” Ward said. “It’s a highly stylized bullshit account of my own job, and it’s…kind of entertaining, honestly.”

“I can imagine,” Melinda said. “Remind me to make you watch one of those American karate movies while I tell you everything that’s wrong with it.”

“Amazing,” Ward agreed. “I look forward to it.”

She smiled at him as she got up and settled in next to him. Ward basked in it silently for an hour until he looked over at her midway through the movie and realized she’d fallen asleep.

He looked back at the DVD player. He could turn it off and go to bed, sure. But he wasn’t finished with the movie, and he didn’t want her to be alone when she woke up.

He got up just long enough to get them both a blanket, wrapping it around them as he settled back in on the couch, closing his eyes and falling asleep, drifting off as he slowly slid down from her shoulder and onto her lap, his head pillowed by her thighs as the credits rolled.

…

Ward awoke that morning to the couch pressing into his cheek and groaned, sitting up and stretching out.

“You okay?” Melinda called from the kitchen. “Sorry I didn’t wake you. Making pancakes.”

“It’s fine,” Ward said with a yawn and a huff. “I appreciate the extra sleep.”

He got up and shivered, turning on the rattling old radiator in the corner before he made his way into the kitchen. There was a pot of coffee brewing as Melinda’s kettle whistled on the stove, the pancakes frying in milky butter as she flipped them.

“Morning,” Ward murmured. “You look lovely.”

“I just woke up, I haven’t brushed my hair or showered, and I’m wearing the same things I was when I fell asleep on the couch last night,” Melinda said, flipping the pancakes.

“You look lovely,” Ward repeated, rubbing his temples. “I’m gonna shower, okay?”

“Okay,” Melinda said. “Could you put a record on first?”

“What? Oh, sure,” Ward said. “You didn’t?”

“It’s more interesting when you pick,” Melinda said with a quiet huff. Ward beamed.

“Right, let me pick one,” he said, making sure her back was turned before he put the _Yellow Submarine_ soundtrack on, dropping the needle and letting her finish breakfast as he headed for the shower, whistling the opening song as he washed his hair.

He dressed for the day; another tee shirt and jeans, pulling on red socks as he went back out and into the kitchen.

“This one’s my favorite,” Melinda told him, her back still to him as she poured two cups of coffee. “I think it’s because of the movie. It was probably the first time I’d ever seen people speaking English that came naturally to them.”

“Your parents spoke English, though?” Ward said. Melinda shrugged.

“Not much,” she said. “Enough to communicate with tourists. They pushed me to learn it, though; they knew people who spoke English went far. So I picked up on English from the tourists, from books, and the bars, for the most part.”

“I see,” Ward said. “Would it be easier if we spoke Chinese? I speak enough to talk with you, I’m sure.”

“I appreciate it, but it’s all right,” Melinda told him. “Don’t worry about it, Grant. I speak English just fine.”

“I know, you really do,” Ward said. “But I do like speaking Chinese with you, though. It flows nicely.”

“It ought to, it’s my native tongue,” Melinda said with a small smile. Ward huffed.

“Aw, you know what I mean,” he said. “With me, I mean. I don’t get the chance to speak foreign languages off-mission much, unless I talk to myself. Keeps my tongue sharp.”

“Dear, nothing about your tongue is sharp,” Melinda teased in Chinese. “You’re just not a sharp-tongued person.”

Ward wilted. Melinda hushed him and patted his cheek gently. “I prefer soft tongues. It is easy to cut with words. Not as easy to heal, or soothe, or be honest.”

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard,” Ward murmured in reply. “Melinda, I—“

The teakettle whistled insistently, cutting them both off. Ward sighed and took the pancakes to the table as Melinda poured two cups of tea to go with the coffee, putting them both on the tray before grabbing two plates and sitting down at the table with a sigh.

“I’m going to go out and speak with an informant,” Melinda said. “Phil texted me this morning to meet them. You don’t have to come though, Grant.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll—“ Ward paused. The thought of Melinda walking back into the house after a long day to find it scrubbed spotless made him beam.

“I’ll find something to do,” he promised. “Keep your phone on you, though. Call me if there’s trouble. I’ll come get you, okay?”

“I can look after myself, but thank you,” Melinda said with a little smile. “I’ll keep it in mind, Grant.”

“Right, I mean, I know you can, but ambushes and stuff,” Ward mumbled, taking a bite of his pancakes. Melinda nodded.

“True,” she agreed. “I’ll keep myself safe, Ward. It’s okay. You go do what you need to, and I’ll wrap this up before dinner. Okay?”

“Sounds amazing,” Ward said. “Don’t—don’t worry about groceries either, okay?”

“Okay,” Melinda said as they finished up breakfast, the two of them sipping tea slowly and savoring their last few minutes together before Melinda stood up, setting her teacup down. “I’m going to go shower and dress.”

“I’ve got this,” Ward said, taking the plates and leaving the coffee cups still on the table, finishing his tea with one last swallow before he picked up the tray and put everything in the sink, throwing dish soap on it in streaks of bright, electric blue before leaving it all to soak in hot water. He could hear Melinda’s shower running as he took a sip of his coffee, looking the house over while she showered.

It wouldn’t take much. Still, the dust that had gathered on the tops of books and tables and in the corners was visible, and he could run a vacuum…scrub the windows, organize the cabinets…

Ward smiled. He definitely had the day’s work cut out for him, and it felt…

He looked down at his hands, head cocked. Generally, working with his hands meant strangling someone, or punching someone, or holding a gun tight in his fist. Never cleaning, scraping, cooking. Not since he was a kid.

Giddiness swelled up in him at the warmth that had settled over his shoulders like the sun. He could hear Melinda getting out of the shower, getting dressed and brushing her hair; it was _normal,_ regular and casual as he sent his wife off to work, kissing her forehead before settling in to clean the house.

He smiled and shook his head. He’d never thought he was missing out without this sort of thing in his life.

“Stupid, isn’t it?” he said with a chuckle.

“What is?” Melinda said, making him jump. Ward looked up to see her in a black blouse and slacks, a bright red belt holding them closed, and smiled.

“Oh, uh…just this,” he said before realizing his mistake. “Oh, sorry! No, this isn’t stupid, I mean, uh…like, um. That it was stupid I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” she said, eyebrows raised. Ward shrugged.

“Didn’t want this,” he murmured. “Before, I mean. That I never considered this is a good life to have. But it is, Melinda. It really is. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “If you want, your coffee’s still on the table.”

“No, I’m fine, I should go,” Melinda said. “Don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Okay,” Ward agreed with a smile. “Have a good day at work, dear.”

She stopped and regarded him for a second before they both grinned. Ward squeezed her hand just once before she slipped out the door and left him behind, standing in the doorway as he watched her walk down the steps and head down the street, going to hail a taxi.

Ward waved goodbye until she couldn’t see him anymore, then headed back inside with a sigh and closed the door, surveying the house with a huff.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s make this work.”

He picked up a broom and smiled, heading to rifle through the closets and see if he could find a feather duster and a mop.


	4. Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ward is a good husband. Melinda enjoys the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite possibly the most tooth-rotting I've ever written them. It's fun to do, just because they're not a casual, fluffy couple for the most part; and yet, the two of them do have that capacity, if you remove them from their blood soaked nightmare lives.

Melinda sighed and dropped a briefcase at the door, rubbing her temples and making her way inside.

“Wait, don’t step there! I just mopped!”

Melinda stopped short and raised her eyebrows, looking at Ward standing in the kitchen, a bucket of soapy brown water sitting by his feet. A mop dripped next to him as he waved at her, a shy grin on his face. Bags of groceries lined the counters of the kitchen, and there was a feather duster on top of the record player.

“Did you just deep-clean the whole house?” Melinda asked, eyebrows raised. Ward shrugged, his face pink.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I guess I did a bit. Is it nice?”

“It’s impressive is what it is,” Melinda said, shaking her head. “I was only gone for about six hours max, Grant.”

“Yeah, but this is a small flat,” Ward said. “Nothing fancy. And the layout was surprisingly easy to clean. Not a lot of places for dust to gather, and I had time to go grocery shopping, too.”

“I can see that,” Melinda said with a smile. “Get anything good?”

“I hope so,” Ward said. “I checked the internet for the sort of ingredients I’d need to get for Chinese dishes; I didn’t, um, buy anything specific? You’d know more than I do, Melinda. But I did my best. And…I got some ice cream, too.”

He paused. “Oh, and I figured out how to hook up the laptop to the television, so we can just use Netflix tonight. If you want to watch a movie at all, I mean.”

“A movie sounds fantastic,” Melinda promised. “Did you get it set up on your own?”

“Well, I had the kids on speaker,” Ward said with a smile. Melinda snorted.

“The kids?” she said. Ward shrugged.

“Jemma, Fitz, and Skye is a bit unwieldy, don’t you think?” he said. “And they squawk if I just call them team nerd, which they totally are. Besides, they’re like…twelve, right?”

“You act like a kid most days too,” Melinda said with a smile. “It’s endearing.”

“Well, I’m not a kid, because kids don’t deep clean the house and buy groceries and hook up Netflix,” Ward said with a huff. Melinda ruffled his hair.

“Hush, I was teasing,” she soothed him. “I know you’re not a kid. We sleep in the same bed.”

Ward choked as she walked past him, taking her jacket off and hanging it up and smiling when she knew he couldn’t see.

“Did your informant give you anything?” Ward asked. Melinda gestured to the briefcase in the foyer.

“List of files about some possible attendees,” she said. “And we coordinated a way to bring them in should we find something actually illegal going on at the ball. If not, we’re going to gather information and just report back.”

“Right, sounds good,” Ward agreed. “So, um…what do you want to do now?”

Melina smiled and walked past him into the kitchen, brushing her fingers idly up his arm and smiling when she felt him stiffen up. “Oh, I don’t know. I think starting dinner now would be good. I’ll put away the groceries; you’ve worked hard enough. Go empty the mop bucket and get clean, sweetheart.”

“Right,” Ward agreed, beaming. “Sounds fantastic.”

He picked up the cleaning supplies and toted the bucket outside, dumping it in the driveway before bringing everything back in and stowing it away in the closet, neatly tucking it all away before washing his hands clean of ammonia fluid in the bathroom, toweling them off and tossing the towel in the laundry basket before making his way back out to the kitchen.

“Did I do okay?” he asked. Melinda surveyed the stacks of groceries with a nod.

“Not bad,” she promised him, patting his shoulder gently. “You did the best you could, given the fact that I wasn’t with you. And I do appreciate it, Ward.”

“Oh, uh, then…I’m glad,” Ward said with a smile. “Whatever makes you happy, Melinda.”

He meant that. She should’ve known before, but turning around to look at him, standing in the kitchen with his hands wrinkled and chapped from a hard day of work as he beamed up at her, seeking her approval…well, it was a good wake up call.

“You did a lot today. Thank you, Grant,” she said, pursing her lips when it didn’t come out quite right. Ward was brighter than the lights outside regardless, so she figured she hadn’t done too bad of a job at conveying it.

“Come on,” she said with a sigh, turning back to the stove. “Let’s get dinner started.”

He nodded and cracked his knuckles with a wince before he settled in looking over her shoulder, watching as she cracked eggs into the pan and added spices, explaining to him how to prepare food with oil. When she slipped into Chinese without thinking, he nodded and followed along, replying in Chinese as best as he possibly could. Melinda just smiled every so often when she heard him speak.

Dinner was casual and quiet, and when they were done, Melinda started to take the plates away from the table.

“What are you doing?” Ward asked, head cocked. Melinda shrugged.

“Cleaning up,” she said. “It’s my turn to do something today. You worked hard enough, Grant. Let me wash up so you can go get your pajamas on before we settle in for the night.”

Ward shook his head.

“No, you don’t need to,” he said firmly. “I don’t want you to. I can do it. I’m going to help, Melinda. You’re not going to need to take care of me—not now, not ever.”

“It’s dishwashing,” Melinda said, raising her eyebrows and huffing. “Grant, I know how to clean dishes. It’s a simple task. There’s no need to fuss because I’m cleaning.”

“It’s simple, so I can do it,” Ward said. “Go shower and get dressed for bed. You’ve had a long day. I can do this. It’s my job. You’ve worked hard enough, Melinda. Let me take care of this.”

“You already did all the work today,” Melinda said, gesturing to the house. “I don’t think this apartment’s ever been as clean as you’ve made it. Take a break. You’ve got every right.”

“No, it’s not enough,” Ward said. “All the work would mean I’m doing the dishes too. So you can let me do them, Melinda. I will, and I’ll do it well, promise. Just let me do the work, okay? I don’t want to make you do anything. It’s not fair.”

“Grant,” Melinda said with a sigh of exasperation. “It’s equal work. Not even! You deep cleaned the damn flat! This whole place is spotless now because you spent the day working, the least I can do is the dishes!”

“You worked too,” Ward protested. “Melinda, please?”

“I don’t think you’re useless,” she told him. “I don’t think you’re a hanger-on or incapable of working, Grant, and I don’t know why you think I do.”

“I just have to work,” he said. “Have to prove I can do it. I can, Melinda, honest. I want to work, I want to show you I can do things, I used to before, and I just—“

“I know, I know,” Melinda said, her voice quiet. “Grant. You’re not the kid you were. You’re fine. You’re completely fine.”

She surveyed him. “But you don’t believe me, do you? You’ll never believe me. You’re waiting for the inevitable slip-up. When I come home and decide you haven’t done enough to satisfy me, so you take a beating for trying to keep things together. But you don’t stop, because stopping would make it worse, even if going forward isn’t ever enough. Is that it?”

There was a brief and terrible pause between them. Melinda could almost feel the air tensing around her, tightening over her skin.

“Melinda,” Ward said, his voice cracking, shuddering in pain, “please just let me do the dishes.”

“No,” Melinda said firmly. “I don’t want you bowing and scraping in front of me because you think it’ll make me love you. It has nothing to do with that. I’m not going to punish you for not doing things. You’re enough, Grant. Just because.”

She picked the dishes up out of his shaking hands before they dropped. “Please just let me do this. Let somebody do something for you without you taking it like it’s a personal indictment. People don’t help you or take care of you because they think you’re a failure. Why do _you_ take care of people, Grant?”

He said nothing. Melinda just carried the dishes into the kitchen with a sigh, setting them down and starting to scrub. She didn’t notice Ward getting up and making his way to the bedroom, getting dressed in his pajamas before he made his way past her in the kitchen and into the living room.

Melinda joined him ten minutes later, after washing up and putting the dishes away before getting her own pajamas on, only to find him sitting on the couch, the television already on and a movie selected on Netflix. Melinda didn’t have to ask what it was; the title screen was enough.

“I’ve never seen this, actually,” Ward said casually. “Do you want to watch it?”

“Always,” Melinda replied, settling in on the couch next to him and smiling when she noticed she barely came up to his shoulder. Ward lifted his arm up so she could curl against him, laying her head on his chest with a sigh.

“Comfortable?” Ward asked, genuine and earnest. Melinda smiled and closed her eyes. The music was enough to summon the pictures in her head at this point, and with her eyes closed, she could breathe in the feel of him better.

“Very,” she promised as he settled a blanket over them both and she turned the volume down a bit so she could drift in and out of the movie and the sound of his breathing.

The two of them woke up on the couch again that next morning, and the next morning after that; the week ended with the two of them deciding they needed to move the laptop into the bedroom and hook it up to that television. Ward was starting to pop his neck in the mornings with a wince of pain.

“We’ve got another week,” Ward said with a yawn as he closed his eyes and laid his head on his pillow, trying to block out the sun rising through the window pointedly, the rays of light throwing gleaming daggers on his face. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Melinda admitted. “This was…this was a good week. But strange.”

“Well, how often is our mission ‘laze about and watch movies and go for walks on the river?’” Ward asked. “Never.”

“Never?” Melinda said with a smile, gesturing around their room. Ward huffed.

“Well, hardly ever,” he replied. “The point is…it’s been a strange week for me too. I don’t think I’ve lived in a home since…since I was a kid.”

“Didn’t you have an apartment?” Melinda asked. “Phil mentioned something about an apartment in Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. blocks,” Ward said with a shrug. “It’s okay. I’m not there much. I don’t really think of it as home.”

“Is this place home, then?” Melinda said, her eyebrows raised. Ward shook his head.

“No? I mean, not…not really,” he said, sitting up in bed. “I don’t think so. Paris is pretty, but it doesn’t feel much like home. Too bright, too beautiful—nice, but not…not a place for settling.”

“Poetic,” Melinda said. Ward smiled.

“Nah, it’s just…I don’t know. This isn’t home, but this routine, this…this, I don’t know? This. This is home,” he said, sinking back down onto his pillow. “The groceries, the cooking, the tea, the movie at night, it…it’s…”

He paused, looking over at Melinda. She was placid, her face impassive as she looked out at the sun shining through the window. Ward’s stomach plummeted.

“Right,” he said, getting out of bed. The word hung in the air, being pulled apart at the seams with all its separate meanings. Ward didn’t speak as he opened the door to the bathroom and went to shower.

Melinda sighed and rolled over, taking his spot on the bed and pressing her face into his pillow, breathing it in as he showered. She closed her eyes and lost herself in his scent, her head swimming as she tried to put all the pieces together.

For a second, it all fit nicely; leather, spiced cologne, a whiff of aftershave and fresh mint. Then she inhaled again, and there was lavender and chamomile; the pungent saltiness of soy and a dash of strong coffee, burning her senses like a river of fire.

No, that wasn’t quite Grant. But it wasn’t hers anymore. He had taken it and made it a part of himself. Lavender soap, as soft as his heart beneath all his nervousness, his bluster and big hands.

Melinda didn’t notice Ward opening the door and getting dressed after he finished toweling dry, mopping himself clean and throwing a tee shirt and jeans on before pulling his socks on; a navy blue pair to go with his grey shirt.

He ran his fingers gently along her arm, idle and soft, as he went to adjust the blanket over her. Melinda stiffened, but didn’t move.

“Sleep some more, if you’d like,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m going to go get us breakfast. Croissants?”

“Chocolate,” Melinda said. Ward smiled.

“Chocolate it is,” he agreed. “With strawberries.”

Melinda hummed in pleasure. Ward looked at her, hair mussed and eyes closed and her face pressed firmly into his pillow, and debated saying something.

He shook his head and smiled, leaving the room and whistling “All You Need is Love” as he left.

In her sleep, Melinda’s dreams hummed with the chorus.


	5. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ward and Melinda have waffles. A few arguments happen along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long; literally this entire chapter is something I wrote from scratch because I needed to add more conflict and drama. I promise there's a happy ending though, no worries! Enjoy, dears.

For a few days, they did what was necessary; Melinda met with their informant again while Ward visited the hall that they would be attending for the ball and scoped it out, setting up microphones and cameras as unobtrusively as he could, finding a few vantage points just in case he might need them. Melinda came home with files; Ward set down blueprints and explained the layout of the main hall, foyer, and dance hall as Melinda briefed him on who they would be most likely to encounter at the ball.

Ward rolled over in bed and smiled as he heard Melinda get up and leave.

“Going to get the list of names?” he said.

“Yes,” she replied. “Blueprints?”

“They’re in the kitchen,” Ward said with a yawn. “We’ll look them over later, okay?”

“All right,” she said. “Are you going to make breakfast?”

“Mm? Yeah,” Ward promised. “Pancakes?”

“Waffles, actually,” Melinda said. “If you can find fruit, strawberries…?”

Ward smiled. “Of course. I’ll go the grocery store. Be safe?”

“I’ll be safe,” she promised, pulling the blankets away from him and making him shiver and stretch out in bed. “You’ve actually got to get up to make those waffles, Grant.”

“You’re cruel,” Ward grumbled, sitting up and heading for the shower as she left the house. He washed himself clean with her lavender soap and inhaled, a small smile on his face as he shook his head.

“Okay,” he said. “Waffles. Do we even have a waffle iron?”

He wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the kitchen with a frown. “Guess not. Grocery store it is.”

He huffed and smiled, taking out a pad of paper from the drawer and writing down a quick little list; strawberries, waffle iron, and butter.

“I should probably get dressed first,” he murmured. “Can’t really go to the grocery store half-naked…”

He set down his towel and slung it over his shoulders, making his way back to the bedroom and dressing quickly. He kept it simple; a plain tee shirt and jeans, throwing a jacket over it as he made his way out and headed down the hallway and out the door, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, putting his hands in his pockets and enjoying the sun as he headed down the street towards the grocery store.

He made his way into the grocery store and stopped by the candy aisle again, picking up a few packs of marshmallow candy with a small smile, putting them in his basket before picking up a package of strawberries and going through the appliances section, picking up a waffle iron and hefting it under his arm before ducking back into the aisles of fridges to grab a stick of butter.

“Fantastic,” he said to no one in particular, a smile on his face. “All right, have to hurry. She’ll be back soon, won’t she?”

Silence. Ward blushed and ducked his head.

“I miss her,” he mumbled, scanning his things at the self-checkout and hurrying out of the grocery store, looking down at his bags with a frown.

Realization hit him as he reached his house.

He pulled out his phone and called Melinda as he entered the house.

“ _Grant, can it wait? I’m busy.”_

“Melinda?” he said as he entered the house. “I don’t know how to make waffles.”

She paused for a second. Ward cringed.

Melinda laughed, the soft ring of her voice spreading through his chest like a ripple. “ _It’s not hard, Grant. Eggs, flour, milk, butter, and a little bit of vanilla. Two eggs, a cup of milk, a third of a melted stick of butter, and two cups of flour.”_

“Yes, Melinda,” Grant mumbled, his face pink. “Thank you, Melinda.”

There was a beat before Melinda laughed again. “ _My informant says you need to grease the pan first. I would’ve assumed you knew that, but it can’t hurt to remind you.”_

“No, uh…thank you,” Ward said. “See you in a bit, Melinda? With the best waffles I can make, I promise.”

There was a beat before Melinda said, “ _My informant says she won’t keep an eager husband waiting. Not if he’s actually attempting to cook for me.”_

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Ward mumbled. “I, uh…have a good day at work, honey.”

“ _You’re impossible,”_ Melinda said fondly, hanging up the phone. Ward stood there for a few seconds, drinking in the memory of her voice with a grin before shaking his head and heading inside to start preparing their breakfast.

…

“We’re not actually married,” Melinda said. Her informant smiled, tucking a strand of thick black hair behind her ear.

“I know all about S.H.I.E.L.D. procedures,” she said fondly. “It’s sweet. Did a friend of yours arrange this mission for you?”

Melinda glared at her. “We’re here for serious undercover, Astaya. Not for fun.”

“I’m sure,” she said, giving her a warm grin. “Look, what do you need? I’m sure he’s eager to get you back home.”

“I need files on everyone that’s going to be in attendance,” Melinda said. “The Kingpin and Madame Masque are both going to be there, but I need names of anyone else you can find.”

“Sure, sure,” Astaya said, turning around and rifling through her cabinets. “That couples ball I heard about a few weeks back? Seems like criminals know how to party better than you do, May.”

“I’m not here to dance with him,” she said. “I’m here to secure the Kingpin’s latest drug shipment—“

“Sure, okay,” Astaya said with a little hum, slapping a few files down. “You go over these with your boy-toy. Should give you what you need.”

“I appreciate it,” Melinda said, sliding a thin silver card across the table. “Your payment.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. does giftcards now? Sweet,” Astaya said with a little grin. “S’appreciated, May. You go see your boy.”

Melinda sighed, shook her head, and left, heading down the stairs of her apartment building and hailing a taxi, files in hand.

She paused giving the address; she got out a few streets earlier with a small smile, entering the café they’d frequented over the past week, ordering their usual fare to go before leaving and making her way down the street for home.

She knocked on the door and waited.

Ward opened the door, her apron tied clumsily over his chest, streaked with flour and creaking around his muscles as he breathed, the fabric straining at the steams as he moved to wipe some egg yolk off the front.

He met her eyes and smiled, huge and genuine. “Welcome home, Melinda.”

“It’s good to see you too,” she said, looking away. She could still feel the tender warmth radiating from his gaze as she proffered the cardboard tray. “I got coffee.”

“I can see,” Ward said with a small smile. “You ready to have breakfast?”

“Depends,” Melinda retorted. “Did you actually make breakfast?”

“I did my best,” Ward said, his face pink. “Come see?”

Melinda followed him inside and towards the table, surveying the sloppy stack of waffles in front of her. Strawberries dripped over the top in misshapen chunks, hitting the plate every so often. The whipped cream Ward had put on top dripped over the sides, puddling into white gunk on the plate.

“It looks fantastic,” she told him. “Thank you, Grant. I appreciate it.”

“It was my first time working a waffle iron,” Ward confessed with a little nod. “I did my best.”

“You did,” Melinda said. “And I’m grateful, Grant. You sit.”

“I already set the table and everything,” he promised as he took a seat, Melinda handing him his cup of coffee. “You ready for breakfast?”

“I’d like to be,” Melinda said. “But we have the files—“

“Breakfast first,” Ward said firmly. “The waffles will get cold.”

Melinda paused and sighed, sitting down and shoving the files aside, picking up her fork and taking a bite. Ward beamed, settling in and taking a few huge bites.

“Have orange juice, too,” Ward said, pushing the carton towards her. “Not just coffee.”

“Grant, honestly,” Melinda said. He poured her a glass and sipped his own before taking another few bites of his waffles. Melinda sighed and took a sip as he smiled, pleased.

The two of them ate in relative peace before Grant finally said, “Okay, so. Files?”

“The most big-time names we’ve got are the Kingpin and Madame Masque,” Melinda said. “There’s a few others, but they’re mostly your average corrupt CEO. Nothing special, but their security detail might be. Nothing makes normal people more paranoid than hanging out with superheroes—or supervillains, in this case.”

“That’s true,” Ward agreed, hiding a yawn in his hand. “So should I do a little digging on these guys? Or do you want to, ah, go for a walk or something—“

“This is still a mission,” Melinda said, cutting him off. “Do your work.”

“I made you waffles,” Ward mumbled, looking away. “I hardly think this still qualifies as just a mission. Ma’am.”

Melinda said nothing. He sighed and got up, heading into the living room with a laptop.

…

A few hours later, Ward came back in and sat down at the table, where Melinda looked over the files.

“Nothing special about any of their security detail, from what I can tell,” Ward said. “Tried to take a look for any mutants or otherwise super-abled people. Nothing showed up on any of the CEO’s homepages or anything else connected to them.”

He surveyed the table. “You didn’t eat lunch, did you?”

“I don’t mind skipping lunch when I have to,” Melinda said. “It’s not an issue for me if I’m working.”

“You should’ve told me,” Ward said, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t have minded going to get us something.”

“You were working too,” Melinda said. Ward shrugged.

“I’m willing to take a break to eat,” he said. “Schedules are important for things like food. Don’t want to slip up, make a mess.”

“Right,” Melinda said, skimming the last file. “We can have dinner tonight, if it bothers you so much.”

“I’m not bothered by dinner,” Ward said. “I’m bothered by the idea that evidently, you’re willing to neglect both your own eating habits and—“

“What else am I neglecting, Ward?” Melinda said.

He paused, pursing his lips. Her tone was icy and sharp, and he struggled to breathe for a split second before opening his mouth.

“You…you seemed so happy this morning,” he said. “Look, whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry. But…I thought you liked this.”

“This is a mission,” Melinda said. “With objectives we need to complete. And things that might put you in danger if you don’t watch your back.”

“I’m not worried about myself,” Ward said. “Because clearly, you’ve got that covered.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” Melinda retorted.

Ward said nothing for a few minutes.

“If it bothers you that much,” she finally said after a few more minutes of silence. “We’ll…go someplace tomorrow.”

“Our last day before the actual mission,” Ward said. “Melinda? Answer me honestly. And don’t tell me that these past two weeks count as part of the mission, because they don’t.”

He inhaled slowly and looked around the entire flat. “Were you happy? Did you enjoy this? Was—was this good for you?”

She didn’t say anything for a minute or two.

“What about you, Agent Ward?” she asked. “Did you enjoy it?”

He paused before shaking his head. “Of course.”

“Even though I’m not who you thought I was?” Melinda said.

“Especially so,” Ward said. “Because I got to see who you really are, I think. And—and that made me a hell of a lot happier than just admiring you from a distance, Melinda.”

There was a sharp, stony silence between them both.

“So yeah,” Ward said. “I really was happy. I really did enjoy getting to be with you, to know you, to make you breakfast and see your tattoo. And I don’t know why that _bothers you_ so much, but…I think it was a good thing.”

Melinda looked down at her work and sighed.

“I’m exhausted,” she murmured. “I just need to go to bed.”

“You don’t want me to try making dinner, too?” he said, his tone light and almost teasing.

She actually smiled when she shook her head. “No, I think I’ll live. I just…I need to sleep. Need to think.”

“Okay,” Ward said. “Sweet dreams, okay? I’ll—I’ll come join you soon.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, opening the door and entering the bedroom.

“But I want to,” Ward said, making her stand in the threshold for a few seconds in silence.

“Goodnight, Grant,” she said, closing the door between them with a sharp click. Ward sighed and shook his head, organizing the files and putting them away before he looked over at the clock and decided to re-heat some leftovers before going to bed with her. He could tell by the sounds coming from behind the door that she could really use some time to cry in peace, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

...

The next morning, Ward awoke to her pressed against him, her face buried in the crook of his shoulder and her breathing slow and soft. He rubbed her back for a brief second before he got up out of bed, pulling the covers up over her and going to shower and shave.

She awoke to the sound of his razor, the quiet buzz making her smile and close her eyes again, lulling herself back to a hazy half-sleep to the sound of running water and his little hum of pleasure as he stepped into the shower.

“Don’t forget,” he called out into their room, “you promised we’d go out today.”

She sighed and pushed her face into the pillow with a grumble.

“It’ll be fun,” Ward said. “I don’t know why you’re complaining so much, Melinda.”

“We could go out and scope out the ballroom—“

“I already did,” Ward said. “Found the vantage points if I need to get up there and snipe. It was a pretty quick job—managed to make waffles too.”

Melinda sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. I don’t know why you’re so adamant we do this, though.”

“I want to walk with you,” Ward said. “I just…want to go out and do things with you. I want to enjoy myself with you—I want…I want us to go out together.”

“This isn’t a date,” Melinda said, getting out of bed and giving him a look. Ward held his hands up in surrender.

“I wasn’t asking for it to be,” he said. “Just…come on? Let’s just go have fun for a little while. No offense, Melinda, but you don’t have much fun on the Bus.”

“Being with you five is enough to keep me exhausted,” Melinda said, getting up to get showered and dressed. “I don’t need to go out and make it worse.”

“Okay,” Ward said, turning around and rolling his eyes as he pulled his jeans on and went to go start the coffee.

He sighed when he prepared it, pouring two cups and leaning against the fridge, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes. This was just…stupid. All of this—but him, especially.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke to the empty kitchen, “I just love you so much.”

The kitchen was silent. Ward sighed and shook his head, cracking a few eggs into the frying pan and scrambling them as he heard the shower turn off.

“Ward? Did you make breakfast?”

“Just eggs,” he called back, finishing it up with a little huff. “You okay with eggs?”

“Fine by me,” Melinda said; he could hear the sounds of her zippers coming together and bit his lip, his face pink. He finished the eggs and added a bit of grated cheese to them before dividing them into two plates, putting them down on the table before going to get the coffee, adding milk and sugar to his.

“The eggs aren’t half bad,” Melinda remarked, looking over his shoulder. He started for a second before nodding.

“I’ve had, uh, more experience preparing eggs,” he said. “We were more likely to have eggs than we were waffles, you know? At home, I mean.”

“That’s true,” Melinda said. “I’m sure they taste lovely, Grant. And I appreciate it.”

“Well, I figured we’d want to get breakfast out of the way as quickly as we could,” Ward said. “Anywhere you want to go today?”

“Not in particular,” Melinda said. “Just seeing Paris would be nice, I suppose. We’ve done some walks, but we haven’t really…toured the place, you know?”

“Okay,” Ward said with a smile. “Then—then let’s go do that? Just walk around.”

“You know, they have a ton of underground catacombs here,” Melinda said with a grin. “We could go explore those.”

“Absolutely not,” Ward said with a shudder. Melinda paused.

“Claustrophobic?” she asked. Ward shrugged.

“Depends,” he said. “I don’t mind if it’s, uhm…like a closet or something? But—but things like that…no, I’d rather not.”

“All right,” Melinda said, her voice shifting to a softer, warmer tone. “I’m sorry, Grant. I didn’t know.”

“I don’t really disclose it, so I don’t blame you,” he said with a nod. “No worries, Melinda. I think…I think I’d be okay if you were there, anyway—but I’d rather not risk it, you know what I mean?”

“I do,” she said with a little smile. “Thank you. But we should get going. We want to have a lot of time to look around Paris, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Ward said with a smile, going to get their jackets as she finished her coffee.

The two of them left the house, arm in arm; Ward didn’t question it when she held his hand and squeezed, though he wanted to. There was no point in not enjoying the little bit of happiness he could take for the time being.

The two of them spent the day walking about without major aim. Ward stopped by the Shakespeare and Company first, curious. Melinda slipped in after him, and the two wandered around and looked at everything.

“Melinda?” Ward called over the shelves. “What sort of books do you like?”

“Oh, when I have the time to read them, I just read romance novels,” Melinda said. “They’re easy and cheap. Comfort food kind of books.”

“All right,” Ward said, looking around before selecting a few books and stacking them up in his arms with a nod.

“And you?” she asked. Ward shrugged.

“Don’t have much time to read apart from mission stuff,” he said. “But I used to like mystery stuff.”

There was a beat before the two of them went up and paid—they took a look at each other’s bags when they left and smiled.

“Should we just exchange bags now, or…” Melinda trailed off as Ward kissed her hand and shook his head.

“Where would the fun in that be?” he said. “Come on. Let’s go find a place to have lunch and sit down and read for a while.”

Melinda nodded, following him out towards the nearest tiny café. Ward put their books down on a table and the two of them ordered a plate of pastries and sat down, watching people walk by and finally exchanging their bags of books, reading a few chapters and settling in.

“We were going to walk around today,” Melinda remarked after another plate of pastries and a few hours of reading.

“Well, I had fun just being here with you, so…” Ward shrugged. “I think it was worth it. But we could go walk around the Eiffel Tower if you want. That’s like at least twenty tourist points.”

“We could wait until it’s darker,” Melinda said with a nod. “I’m sure it’ll be much nicer to look at when it’s dark out.”

“That’s true,” Ward agreed. “Okay—a little longer here?”

“Well,” Melinda said, “I’m having fun, too.”

Ward smiled, his whole face lighting up as he took a madeleine and turned to the next page in his book.

…

“You know,” Ward said, his voice casual, “I expected it to be kind of…bigger.”

“Well, it’s all in the angle,” Melinda said. “When you’re flying over the whole city, of course it’s going to look bigger, Grant—everything else is smaller. But when you’re glancing at it so close, it just looms beyond your sight. So it’s a little harder to see it for its size.”

“True,” he agreed. “It’s nice anyway. It glows.”

He turned around and looked at her, a smile on his face. “So do you.”

She didn’t say anything, looking away with a little frown as Ward huffed and bit his lip, looking around at the glow of the city and the inviting flicker of warm lights.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured in French, looking up at the tower and sighing. “Melinda?”

“Mm?” she said.

Ward turned and took her hand. “I know we’re already married, but just saying; this is a pretty popular spot to propose.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Melinda said, rolling her eyes. Ward sighed.

“If I’d asked you here, would you have said yes?” he said.

“The location hardly matters,” Melinda said. “Grant—“

She paused and pursed her lips, looking away.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“No it isn’t,” she snapped. “And don’t try to tell me it is. You’re an open book. Of course I know this bothers you.”

Ward shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me, though.”

“You should,” Melinda said. “You should matter to yourself. You should care about yourself.”

“I’m all right,” Ward said. “If I matter to someone else, I think—it took me awhile to figure this out, I mean, but…being with the team made me figure it out. I care if I matter to someone else. I’ll be fine as long as I’m wanted. It’ll be all right. As long as someone wants me around, I’ve got time to figure everything else out.”

He dropped her hand and looked up at the tower. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“You’re impossible,” Melinda said—not warm and teasing like before, but exhausted. Ward shook his head.

“This is a lot less complicated than you’re making it,” he said. “Just watch the lights with me, please?”

Melinda fell silent and did just that, her arms over her chest as she turned and observed the way the whole city glowed from their vantage point.

Her hand found his again for an instant. Ward squeezed it gently.

“We could go,” Ward said. “Whenever you feel up to it, Melinda. I’ll walk you home.”

“You look…nice,” she said slowly. “Lit up like this. City lights are a good look for you.”

He gave her a small smile, rueful and thin. “You don’t have to try if you don’t feel it.”

“I mean every word I say,” she said, switching to Chinese. It felt more like she was proving her point that way. Ward raised an eyebrow.

“Even the words that contradict?” he asked, switching to Chinese with her.

“My emotions,” she said with a sigh, “contradict quite a bit lately.”

“Fair enough,” Ward agreed. “Come on, Melinda.”

“One more minute,” she said. “Just—just let me look at you.”

He did exactly that, standing completely still and letting her sweep her gaze over his entire body, lit up in gold by the glowing city light, even in the middle of the darkness.

Her heart ached when she took his hand again. Ward just nodded, leading her home.


	6. Light the Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument, a ballroom, a mission, and the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize this wasn't on Friday, my weekend got incredibly busy. But here you are now; the resolution.  
> I'm so thrilled everyone stuck through with me on this one! It was a fun trope to explore, and they're just a cute couple to write this sort of thing with. I really appreciate the support, I know this is a smaller pairing, but everyone's been really nice and enthusiastic. Enjoy.

When they got back home, Melinda made it to a bakery before dinner and ordered a tray of macarons. Ward gave her a look when she set the plate down at dinner; she just stared right back, matching his gaze.

“We’re in Paris,” she said. “The bakery of Europe. Grant, for god’s sake.”

“Okay, okay,” Ward said. “But we haven’t sparred all week. We should at least try to exercise.”

“Because where are we going to duke it out in a flat?” Melinda said, rolling her eyes. Ward shrugged.

“The living room, if we move the couch,” he said. “Just a bit?”

“A little bit,” Melinda said with a sigh. “Only a little bit. But you’re right. We need to be limber for the ball, just in case.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked. Melinda nodded.

“Mm,” she said. “We’ve got a full day tomorrow to prepare, and then it’s in the evening. Are you ready?”

“I’ll be ready after we spar,” Ward said, idly reaching for a macaron as she did the same.

Their hands brushed, and Ward jerked his away, his face pink. Melinda took the cookie and broke it in half, offering him the other half without a word.

Ward took it with a smile, taking a bite. It was the only cookie he ate, but Melinda didn’t push him. They cleared the table and put away the plates before going into the bedroom and changing into their training gear. If either of them noticed the ease with which they stripped down in front of the other, neither of them remarked on it.

Melinda met him in the living room, a makeshift ring thrown up in the living room out of the couch cushions. The couch itself had been shoved aside to make room for the ring as Ward crossed the cushions and smiled, settling into his stance and raising his hands.

Melinda was quick and brutal the first time she threw him to the floor; she did, however, grab his arm at the last minute and pull him up before he could hit the rug.

“Not quite as much give as the mats,” she explained. “I’d rather you didn’t get a concussion during our mission.”

“This _wasn’t_ the mission,” Ward said, pulling away from her with a frown. “I mean, what else were these last two weeks?”

“A casual break,” Melinda said with a shrug. “I mean, I would hardly qualify watching my favorite movies in bed and making dinner every night a mission. It was fun, sure, but not much else.”

Ward paused and lowered his fists, standing before her with his chest exposed and his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed.

“That’s it? That’s all it was to you?” Ward said, circling her and slowly pulling up his fists. Melinda shrugged.

“Was it meant to mean something else?” she asked, giving him a cocked eyebrow. He pulled away, pulling his fists in tight against his chest and watching her.

She wanted to tell him to stop, wanted to reach across the ring and kiss him, somewhere deep inside of her; she buried it under her heart, burning the notion away like letters in a fireplace.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess not.”

“You’re certainly not forthcoming with how it made you feel either,” Melinda retorted, moving in closer. Ward stepped back, eyes narrowed.

“Because you haven’t told me how you felt, either,” he said. “You haven’t told me honestly how you feel about this, us, _anything—_ it all just feels like you’ve been faking with me the entire time! Taking everything you say back and contradicting yourself…”

He paused. “You haven’t told me much of anything, honestly. Nothing I can trust.”

“I’ve been more honest with you than I’ve been with anyone in years,” she protested, her foot lashing up to kick him. “No one but you and Phil on this team know about my parents.”

He grabbed her foot and twisted, taking her off-balance before grabbing her and pulling her up so she didn’t hit the floor.

“That,” Ward said, “is appreciated. But even so. You’re still closed off.”

“I don’t owe you vulnerability,” Melinda snapped.

“It’s not owed,” Ward said. “But I thought you would have wanted to share some by now. Everything you give me feels like you’re just flirting with me, or making fun of me.”

“And that’s all it is,” Melinda said, going for his solar plexus with her next punch. Ward sidestepped her and blocked the next blow she sent his way. “Unless you don’t know women well enough to tell the difference?”

“I don’t know, and I think you’re banking on that,” Ward said. “You don’t want me to know. You want the luxury of getting to be honest with someone and then getting to take it all back. I’m a bit oblivious, Melinda, but I’m not that dumb.”

He huffed. “Do you remember what you said to me the first night we came here?”

“It was only two weeks ago,” Melinda said sharply. “Of course I do.”

“Then you must know I still mean it,” Ward said. “Moreso, even. I fell for the Cavalry, but I’m in love with you, Melinda. And all the things about you.”

“You aren’t,” Melinda snapped. “You can’t. You don’t even understand, you can barely begin to know what that means—“

“For once, Melinda, I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand things,” Ward said. “Or at least, refuses to see them.”

He dodged the fist she sent towards his ribs, side-stepping her and turning around so he stood behind her. She swerved to face him, her eyes wild.

“You don’t want to think that maybe, just maybe, over the course of two weeks where I finally get to see you as _you—_ as someone with a family, a history, a preference for their tea, hobbies and passions and childhood memories—that I might love you more? That it might change my desire for you, but not take it away?”

Ward snorted. “Were you thinking I’d love you less if I knew your favorite Beatles record? Or how long you took showers for?”

“I thought your childish little infatuation would end here, yes,” Melinda said. “That’s all this is. A little boy playing at love.”

Ward smiled and shook his head, shrugging his shoulders before regarding her with a cool, level gaze. She pulled back from him and ignored the burn in her chest. Let the fire consume her. She knew that burn. The pain was at least familiar, so much unlike the agony in her heart now.

“You know what’s funny? You told me that I couldn’t see you as you were,” Ward said. “That I didn’t love you. I couldn’t know you. And now you’re doing the same thing. You don’t want to admit that you’re the one who refuses to see what’s underneath _my_ exterior, Melinda, rather than the other way around!”

He ducked when she went to kick him again. “You can’t decide, can you? How close you want to be. You haven’t figured it out yet, because you don’t think you know me. And, more important, you think I can’t know _you_. That I can’t understand where you’re coming from—that somehow, you’re the only one in the world with demons.”

His next blow was unexpected; a sweep to her legs that left her just enough time to dodge. She threw her hands up and went to strike him, but he grabbed her fist and held it.

“Do you know,” he said, “how I got into S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“No,” Melinda snapped. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with personal information either, Grant.”

“You’ve never asked,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway.”

His next blow was dirty; he circled her and grabbed her shoulder from behind, forcing her to her knees before she jerked her head back and clipped him in the jaw.

“I was seventeen, and I had Dana,” he said. “I ran away from home, because wouldn’t you? I took him and ran away as far as I could in the car I took from my parents. We slept out of the car and I worked where I could to keep food in our stomachs, but my grandmother lived on the other side of the country, and finding a way to her house was tough, to say the least.”

He shrugged. “Money was tight and I was desperate. So I mugged a guy. Not my best moment. But he kicked my ass pretty handily before he introduced himself as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and I admit; I broke. I thought I was going to get arrested. I tried to get back to Dana, tried to make a run for it. He saw what I was doing, though—trying to get my brother out of there. I guess he admired that.”

He dodged the punch she sent his way with a smile. “So he offered me a job. Said he’d get Dana to my grandmother, next flight out to California. I’d spend a year in the academy, and money was no object. Dana would be taken care of and I would be an agent, eventually.”

He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her close; he didn’t land a blow, he just watched her, his eyes bright with tears.

“Do you know what it does to you,” he said, “when you give up yourself for what you love and lose it anyway?”

“Of course I do,” Melinda snapped.

Ward smiled and shook his head, switching his grip to holding her shoulders steady, his fingers gentle.

“Then you know why I can’t let you go,” he murmured.

The brush of lips against her own made her pause for a second.

There was a moment where the two of them burned, every nerve alight between them both like it had never been before.

They shared a moment together, their breathing entirely in sync, before she punched him in the face, blood roaring in his ears as she turned on her heel and stormed out.

A beat of complete silence echoed through his ears as she moved through the house, save for the rustle of a few things being grabbed. The silence lasted another beat, long enough for Ward to feel lightheaded, before the slam of the door made the record scratch, the needle screeching as it jumped off the player.

 _When had they put music on?_ Ward wondered, his thoughts drifting as he left the living room and lifted the needle up, making his way into the bedroom and collapsing in bed alone.

...

He awoke that morning to a cold bed and a hard pillow and sat up with a quiet grunt of pain, getting out of bed and going to shower.

He spent another half hour in the shower, trying to scrub the feeling of her fist on his face away. It didn’t work—all he had was her lavender soap to wash away the bruise on his face.

He only left the shower when it ran cold, getting out with a sigh and looking at his face in the mirror.

The bruise was tiny; she hadn’t really meant to hurt him. He traced it with his fingers and he knew it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse, had she meant to hurt him. She had just lashed out—she’d been scared. He’d made her panic.

Guilt swelled up in his chest like a boil and he sighed, shaking his head. He’d leave the bruise for a while. A physical reminder not to fuck up like that ever again. Not when it came to her.

He had heard her pack before she left; he knew she wasn’t coming back tonight, but he felt a twinge of pain when he went into the living room to see an empty couch anyway.

He prepared breakfast, but only had a protein shake and his first cup of coffee before he settled in to practice a few defensive stances before the ball that night.

He dressed reflexively that night after a short, mechanical shower; he did not think of how good it would feel to have Melinda’s fingers on him, nimble and deft as they ducked in and out of the knots of his tie, scarlet red and burning on his chest like a mark of his shame, matching the bruise on his cheek as Ward traced it.

He had to cover it up. He didn’t want to stand out at the party. Would she know he still thought he deserved it?

He patted foundation over it regardless, applying the cover up with skill and practice and a rueful smile as he shaved, nicking himself just once to avoid the makeup; the blood ran down his chin and matched his tie. Ward wiped it away before it could get on his button up and sighed.

He traced a heart in the mirror and mouthed her name. He pretended she was outside in the hallway in her dress, more beautiful than he could imagine and holding out her hand to him, beckoning him forward.

Ward snapped back to reality and looked down, pulling his hand tight against his chest and sighing, closing it into a tight, secluded fist before he pulled on his belt, adjusted his slacks, put on his socks and shoes, and made his way out the door, getting into the car and driving off alone.

It was only halfway to the ballroom that Ward slammed his hands on the wheel and huffed, trying not to scream. Stupid. He’d forgotten the whole point of this mission; to fake being a couple, not actually try to kiss her.

He was going in without his wife. Stupid, stupid. He’d just have to lie, say his wife was coming late. Separate cars; fantastic. A couple on the rocks.

Ward’s smile was wry and grim as he pulled into a line of cars idling outside the venue. Right. They were certainly on the rocks, though he had never been lucky enough to call them a couple.

Not that he ever would, now. Time to hover around the edges of the crowd tonight, catch some information, report back to Phil, and promptly go back to not speaking to her at all. He could keep his quiet awe and let it smolder in his chest. It was better that way. She’d lost enough to careless fires.

Ward’s chest was tight and his innards greasy with self-loathing as he got out of the car and handed his keys to the first valet he saw, as well as ten Euro. He didn’t remember if it was custom to tip before or after at these sort of things, but he wanted the chance to be decent to someone tonight.

He gave his cover name at the door, and fortunately the man checking off the list didn’t question him, nor the fact that the name just under his didn’t belong to any of the people beside him. Ward frowned as he descended the enormous ballroom stairs and slipped onto the dancefloor, weaving through the crowd.

Maybe this had been a cover up of some kind. The couples here didn’t look particularly plentiful. Why in the hell had they needed to pose as a married couple?

Ward’s hand went down to his side and fiddled with his fingers; he raised his eyebrow and shook his head. When had he remembered to put on his ring?

Well, it didn’t matter. The weight felt comforting on his finger, like a blanket that surrounded his shoulders and sheltered him, but he’d have to cast it off soon anyway. For now he could just pretend. In any case, it would prevent anyone from making too many forward advancements on him, hopefully.

Ward smiled at the thought and found a table for two, sitting down and looking around the room. He could see the entire place from his position; the ballroom glowed, casting light over the warm, rich velvet of the crimson curtains and making the crystal chandelier that clung to the roof gleam and shimmer, casting rainbows over the rich gold hues of the ceiling and the pillars that supported the domed roof.

The floor of the ballroom echoed, the marble meeting sharp heels and creating a steady, firm clatter. There were speakers somewhere in the walls so announcements could be heard over the din; Ward perked up, cocking his head and listening better, trying to strain through the names being called and place them to one black-market operation or another.

Names kept passing him by, and Ward’s frown only deepened the more that guests descended on the ball. He didn’t recognize anyone by name from any of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s extensive files. Certainly not from the case file. Why had they been sent here?

He sighed and drummed his fingers, waiting and watching the dancefloor. His frown sharpened at the pitying gazes he occasionally received whenever he made eye contact; he tried not to bristle, but as the time he spent sitting alone at the table turned from minutes to an hour, the gazes started to pile up, and Ward started to take a few glances at the bar a few tables away.

He sighed and stood up, giving in to the impulse. There was clearly no mission to be had. Whatever this was, he was sure of only one thing about the past two weeks; Coulson had a horrible sense of humor.

Ward was debating if this was worth stabbing him again over as he leaned against the bar. He opened his mouth to order a drink, but before he could get the words out, he heard a name called and he dropped his jaw, turning around and making his way through the crowd of people and watching, wide-eyed, as the light focused in his line of vision, narrowing it down to the woman standing at the top of the stairs.

Melinda’s dress shifted like waves, ripples spreading outward and spilling across the stairs, flashes of vivid vermilion that caught the light of the chandelier as she made her way down the stairs slowly, showing off flashes of red leather pumps that glistened as they caught the light. Her dress slid effortlessly down the stairs behind her, a train of fabric that flowed like a river, winding and slow.

She held her head high to show off the elegant arch of her neck and the golden threads of her necklace that cradled all the opals gleaming at her throat, throwing off colors to rival those of the crystals in the chandelier that threw light over her bare shoulder, the hints of her tattoo creeping over the edge. Ward knew that if she turned, he would be able to see the entire thing laid bare, but as she reached the edge of the steps, it was the last thing on his mind.

His biggest concern at the moment was the ring gleaming on her finger, gold and fiery red, the opal shining in the light as she brushed her hand against the fabric of her dress, as if it would calm the rippling movement of the ruffles and pleats.

She was on the last step when he lifted her up into her arms and carried her the rest of the way, swinging her around and placing her squarely on the floor with an enormous grin. He could feel every eye in the place on them, pity replaced by burning jealousy. Ward shrugged it all off, the emotions of the room like little sputters of candlelight compared to the passion that threatened to char his very bones.

“This might not be appropriate to say right now,” he whispered, “but my god, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Melinda was silent. Ward made to move his hands away from her waist; she tensed, and he kept them where they were without a word.

“You said that,” she finally said, “when I had just woken up from a night on the couch. Before I’d brushed my hair, even.”

“I meant it then,” Ward promised. “I mean it now.”

Melinda stared up at him for another minute, the silence heavier than Ward could bear. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to the punch.

“Dance with me,” she said. It was more a command than a lovelorn plea, but Ward obeyed, letting her sweep him out onto the dancefloor and grab his shoulder, squeezing lightly as the music started up again and chatter returned to other subjects than the mysterious woman in red who had descended on them like a phoenix rising out of the ashes.

“I think we got the wrong ballroom,” Ward said in her ear as she moved him through what he assumed was a waltz. He’d taken some ballroom dancing for undercover, but she moved like this was as natural as breathing. He relaxed and let her lead.

“There aren’t that many balls in Paris,” Melinda said. “We’re at the right place. I took care of it.”

“Took care of what?” Ward asked, wrinkling his nose. Melinda hushed him.

“The song isn’t over,” she said. “One dance first. Then I’ll explain.”

Ward nodded. He could at least give her that. The fact that she was even talking to him was more than he’d expected—he’d take a dance. Oh, he would’ve probably died for a dance with her.

He held onto her tight and dared to twirl her when he heard the swell of the music reach its peak; he didn’t think to dip her. She smiled when her dress spun, and his heart lit up as her hands found his once more.

The music faded and she led him away into the velvet curtains framing the walls, their backdrop rustling and sighing softly as she found them a shadowy corner where she could brush her fingers along his jawline.

“You covered up,” she said. “I bruised you.”

“Not that bad,” Ward protested. “And I was out of line, anyway.”

“Mm?” Melinda said. Her face when Ward dared to glance at her, rather than his shoes, was entirely blank. He couldn’t get a read from her eyes, either.

He sighed and shrugged.

“I mean, I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said.

“Did you want to?” Melinda ask. “Kiss _me._ Not get off, or prove some kind of point. Kiss me.”

“I did want to,” Ward said. “I wanted to kiss you, specifically, more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss another human being in my entire life. But that’s not the point. The point was, I kissed you without thinking—more importantly, without your consent. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Melinda said, pressing her fingers lightly against the foundation caked on his skin. “I punched you and I shouldn’t have. I lashed out.”

“You had every right,” Ward said.

“Don’t make excuses when people hurt you,” Melinda murmured, pulling her touch away. Ward leaned slightly towards her, trying to reach for her fingers again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You had every right, though. I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions, and I screwed up. I made you uncomfortable. Melinda, you _left.”_

“I left,” she said, “to get a few things done.”

She smiled slightly. “And to clear my head, I’ll admit. Your kiss was…quite a shock. I wasn’t expecting you to be so assertive.”

“I, uh, got kind of worked up,” Ward apologized. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Anyways…mind telling me what you were doing?”

“Completing the mission,” Melinda said simply. Ward’s jaw dropped.

“Uh, but—“

“It wasn’t hard,” she said. “I had all the information from our informant. The ball was going to be the place where all the targets would convene, but there’s nothing in the S.H.I.E.L.D. handbook against getting your work done a little early. I got a few agents to come in as backup for when I detained the Kingpin and secured the drugs he’d been trying to ship from France to Algeria. Madam Masque was another story. Didn’t get ahold of her, unfortunately, but we did manage to intercept her boat, which had at least three million dollars worth of counterfeit Euros on it. That took all night, but I managed a nap before I came here. And a shower, thankfully.”

“Melinda,” Ward breathed. “Melinda, you—“

“This wasn’t a mission,” Melinda said, grasping the lapels of his jacket. “This was never a mission for me, or you. This was something better than a mission. And I had to do right by that. So I cleaned up a few loose ends.”

“Why?” Ward asked, his throat dry and his heart thudding in anticipation of her answer. He could almost feel it, see it on her face, but he needed to hear it, had to know he wasn’t dreaming—

“Because I wanted this,” Melinda said. “I wanted this dance. This night, for us. I wanted…I wanted to just go dancing with you. Just as Melinda. Just…just as your wife.”

Ward reached up and cupped her cheek, running his thumb gently over the skin. He said nothing of the way she tensed, or the foundation he felt gathered on the pad of his thumb.

“Oh, Melinda,” he murmured. “I’ll make you so much more than that. Tonight, you get to be a princess, okay?”

He kissed her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ve got better things to do right now.”

“Better things to do than talk?” Melinda said. Ward smiled and kissed her temple.

“For the moment,” he said. “Later. I owe you a dance first.”

He put his hands on her hips and held her close before he swept her back out onto the dancefloor. His steps were sure as he held her steady, her hands guiding his movements so he could lift her up and twirl her about. She laughed in delight once, a bubble of genuine happiness bursting forth like it had been sent up in a rush from her lungs; Ward’s entire face glowed as he lifted her up so they were face to face.

He kissed her again, and this time, the only touch between them was their lips meeting, burning away everything else but the connection between their bodies.

…

Ward picked her up when the last song was over and started up the stairs. Melinda grabbed his shoulders for support and gave him a look, eyebrows raised.

“Honestly, Grant?” she said. Ward huffed.

“Your dress is enormous,” he said, lifting the train up and laying it over her dress. “I don’t want it to get ruined by being outside, so I’ll carry you out.”

He paused. “Did you take a car here too?”

“One of the agents dropped me off after we’d secured the counterfeits,” Melinda said. “Managed to come up with a good reason that wasn’t date-related for coming here, thankfully. I’d never hear the end of the gossip otherwise.”

Ward smiled. “Well, I did bring the car. Glad you came up with a good lie. Though, honestly, I wouldn’t mind if everyone knew we just came here to dance.”

“You’d think, but we’d probably get accused of being unprofessional,” Melinda said with a shrug. “Despite completing the mission prior to the proposed completion.”

“Well, forget them,” Ward said firmly as the valet pulled up with his car. He handed him another twenty Euros and settled Melinda in the passenger seat, kissing her forehead with a grin. “They didn’t get to dance with you, so they don’t count.”

Melinda smiled, small but genuine as Ward got in and drove off, rolling down the windows and letting the lights of Paris throw shadows and reflections all over the car. Melinda’s hand found his on the steering wheel; Ward dropped it so it could rest on the center console, her fingers entwined with his, as he drove the whole way home with one hand on the wheel.

The flat glimmered, warm and inviting as Ward parked the car and looked up at it with a grin.

“We’re home,” he announced. “And I’m going to need to help you out of the car.”

“You don’t have to—“

Melinda took one look at his expression and sighed. “Okay, fine. Help me up.”

He swept her up into his arms and carried her inside. Melinda sighed with relief. “All right, Grant, thank you, I appreciate it. Now, if you could—“

Ward kissed her forehead and carried her over the threshold to their room, settling her on the bed before finally letting go. Melinda huffed, but Ward’s hand on her cheek quieted her protests as she leaned into his touch. He held her for a minute, kneeling so they were eye level, his other hand entwined with hers on her lap.

“Melinda?” Ward said. “I have a secret for you.”

His tone was teasing and soft, like they were kids whispering to one another in the back of the classroom. Melinda couldn’t help but smile at the sparkle in his eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “Tell me.”

He leaned up just enough to press another kiss to her lips as his hand moved to unzip her dress, sliding it down off her shoulders and letting the bodice pool in her lap.

“I kind of like being married,” he murmured in her ear.

Melinda stood, taking his hand so he stood with her, holding onto her hand for a second longer before the two of them started to inch off the dress carefully, pulling it down and fumbling with hemlines until Ward settled for lifting Melinda right out of the dress and onto the bed, taking off her heels for her as well. His hands brushed past her garters as he touched her stockings, and he raised his eyebrow. She gestured down.

“All of it,” she said. Ward nodded, removing everything she had on her body before she finally sighed in pleasure and stretched out in bed, unencumbered.

“It does feel fantastic,” she murmured, rolling over in the sheets. “But there’s something I’ve enjoyed more lately.”

“Oh? Ah, tell,” Ward said, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it up, putting the dress back in the suitcase before he unbuttoned his shirt and undid his tie, undoing his belt and dropping his slacks before finally kicking off his shoes and socks and tossing his briefs aside. Melinda eyed him up with an appreciative grin.

“Being here with you,” she told him as he climbed into bed and laid beside her. “Married or not.”

“Nothing could make me happier,” he promised.

For a second, Melinda hesitated to reply; old habits died hard, and the fire he kindled in her was powerful, but the armor around her heart was stronger still, and she had to know. She had to be able to trust this—trust him.

She met his gaze for a second and hoped.

The look he gave her as he cupped her cheek did not disappoint.

“I’m glad,” Melinda finally said, her voice warm and soft. “Me either.”

Ward beamed and held her close, pressing her chest against his own as she buried her face into his neck and their arms found each other’s, holding their bodies together under the covers. Ward’s breathing was tight for a second, excitement and panic swelling up within him in equal measure.

Melinda hushed him gently, slowing her breathing down and listening as he tried to match it, her chest finally rising and falling against his perfectly in sync.

“Thank you,” Ward breathed. “For everything.”

“Always,” she replied, the last thing she said to him before the lights of Paris faded, and for the first night in decades, she was without nightmares.

…

The next morning, Phil Coulson received a phone call.

“Hello? Oh, Melinda,” he said with a smile. “Good to hear from you.”

He paused. “Yes, the kids are fine. Skye says hello, and also, bring back macarons. Jemma says you need to visit a few shops and tell them you know her. She insists you wear something beyond your combat fatigues while you’re on the Bus. I’ll text you the addresses later.”

He winced. “Don’t grumble, Melinda, she’ll pout for weeks if you don’t come back with some new clothes.”

He paused again. “Actually, speaking of, the ball was last night, wasn’t it? How did that go? I can pilot a course for Paris right now, get you two back on the Bus in another five hours.”

He waited for a second, drumming his fingers lightly on his desk.

In Paris, Melinda rolled over to look at Ward’s face as he slept, his expression smooth and untroubled, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips when her hair brushed his cheek.

“There were a few…complications,” she said. “Complications requiring urgent handling by Agent Ward and myself. We’ll need another week, thereabouts.”

“Oh?” Phil said, barely trying to hide his amusement. “Complications. I see. Will those complications allow you two some time to visit those stores Jemma insisted on?”

“Perhaps,” Melinda said, a smile growing on her face. “Text me the addresses, and I’ll see if we can fit it into our schedule during our new mission.”

“Of course,” Phil replied. “I’m sure this is going to be new territory for you both, and not exactly smooth sailing. Be good to him. And remember this is new for him too. He’ll make a few mistakes, but I’m sure you can cover for him. He’ll do the same for you.”

“Will do,” Melinda promised. “See you in a week, Phil.”

“Make sure you get laid, Mel,” Phil said, a little laugh ringing in his words. Melinda rolled her eyes and muttered something amicably in Chinese at him before he hung up.

“Mm?” Ward murmured, stirring by her side. “Melinda? Danger?”

“No, little one, it’s okay,” Melinda said, rubbing his shoulder gently. “We’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, laying his head in her lap with a little pleased grunt. Melinda rubbed his back before reaching up to scratch at his scalp.

“Do we have to pack?” Ward asked, looking up at her with wide eyes. “We’re leaving today, aren’t we?”

“Actually,” Melinda said with a smile, “we’ve run into a few complications in Paris that necessitate us staying another week. And shopping at a few of Jemma’s favorite stores.”

“Oh? We have? Oh no,” Ward mumbled. “It’s okay, Melinda. You sleep now. I’ll take care of it in a second. Okay?”

Her heart swelled as she stroked his hair and nodded.

“You’re doing a good job already,” she promised him, watching him glow with pride as he closed his eyes and drifted back off again.

She watched him for a few more minutes, making sure he was truly asleep. Ward’s breathing, soft and deep, started to match her own; Melinda felt the faint threads of sleep pulling at her thoughts again, eager to ensnare her.

She looked out at the city, then at the clock. She shrugged. It was only ten in the morning. They had a whole week ahead of them. For now, the only thing that mattered was their bed, and the man she shared it with.

His open arms were so inviting that Melinda had no choice but to snuggle underneath the crook of his arm as she pulled the blankets back over them and laid down. She threw an arm over his broad chest so her hand could brush his heartbeat and count its pulses beneath her fingertips, knowing every beat was for her.


End file.
